


Gaining Traction

by ScriptedAssimilation



Category: Homestuck
Genre: "alcohol use", Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Awkward Sex, Bulges and Nooks, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Drunken Consent, Established Relationship, First Meetings, First Time, Frottage, Kinda, M/M, Psionic kink, Sexual Content, Skype Sex, Sloppy Makeouts, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, awkward frumbling, club shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptedAssimilation/pseuds/ScriptedAssimilation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're almost ten sweeps and nearly all of your friends have faded away.  You don't know if they're even still alive, but you do know you won't be soon.  This is not the time to start a relationship, even a clusterfuck like this.<br/>And yet you're about to have cyber sex for the first time.<br/>Your name is Karkat Vantas and you have absolutely no idea how this is going to go down.<br/>You do however, have a feeling this is going to get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skype Sex

**Author's Note:**

> kk and sol are from an au made by [Vex.](http://thetroublesomefoxwithissues.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Someone should stop me from writing solkat cuz all I do is write smut.

This isn’t the first time you’ve video chatted with him.  Far from it.  Over the sweeps, you’ve gone from internet co-trolls to best bros, to, well, whatever the fuck you are now.  Neither of you have stepped up to put a name to it, and while part of you wishes that maybe he would, the bigger part of you knows there’s no way you’d be able to tie it all nice and neat in a quadrant.  So it’ll stay messy and nameless.  He likes it better that way.

You’d met him when you were only—fuck how old were you?  Like five?  He’d barged into one of your favorite game forums and chewed you out.  It’s probably because of him that you started your trademark rants and extended metaphor insults.  Anything to fight back at the nookwiff spitting venom at you over the internet.

Needless to say, you became fast friends.

Now you’re almost 10, and you have a close up of his crotch on your laptop.  Stubby claws are slowly unzipping jeans, and it would be horribly sexy if that noxious laugh wasn’t filling up your aural cavities and teasing you for the face you’re pulling.

“Fuck kk, if I knew you were going to be thith into it, we would have done thith ageth ago.  You’re face man, you thould thee yourthelf.  You can thee yourthelf, fuck.”

You lean in real close to your webcam, and roll your eyes, hard.  Then you realize he can’t actually see you, as he’s all but straddling his own husktop.

“Rolling my eyes,” you clarify.  “And I didn’t give you permission to stop.  Keep fucking going, nerd lord.”

There goes that laugh again, and no, fuck, he’s pulling away from the camera.  He plops down on the board he calls an ass, catching himself on an elbow and staring directly at you.

“Nah.” He adjusts his glasses—you wish he’d take them off.  His eyes are kind of freaky, but it would be nice to see them anyway.  “C’mon,” he says, sliding a hand down his pants, rubbing, “Give me thomething to go off of.”

You huff.  How is he so nonchalant about this?  Fucking exobisionist steak.  Your pusher is racing in your chest, and you’re really fighting not to squirm in your seat.  You reach a hand behind you, yank your sweater up and forward, plopping it in your lap.

He frowns.  “KK, you’re thopothed to do it thethy.”

“Oh my fucking— are you serious?  What more do you want for me?  Am I not stripping for you?  Is my chest not bared to the heavens, all supple gray skin, so smooth and strokeable?  Don’t you just want to, uh, take a hold of my grubscars, and, uh, lick up my neck?  Or something?  I’m bad at this.”  You start off strong, claws ghosting over your skin in a pleasant, ticklish manner, but you end up facing away from him, hands up to cover your blush.  You still haven’t told him your blood color.  It’s going to make things difficult. 

“Eheh, nice.  Here’s how you do it.”  He tosses his glasses off, sits up and forward.  He scoots his husktop forward and adjusts the angle of his camera, making sure both his eyes and his crotch are in the picture.  He looks directly at you.  He’s still rubbing at his junk, spreading his legs a little wider, and yep, wow, he has definitely moved on to fingering his nook.

“Fuck yeah I want to lick it.  I want to lick all of you.  If I was there kk, I would be all over you.  I wouldn’t even bother tharting off thlow.  I’d be in your lap, theath right up against yourth, tho that I could feel you get turned on, thlowly thart to thide out—yeah, get your hand down your panth, ith ok.  Ehehheh, ith kind of the point—I’d have you by the hair becauthe your hornth are too fucking nubby to get a grip on, pulling your head back and thucking on your neck.  You’d thart panting, bucking up a little againthed me, juth from that—No fuck you, look at me—I’d thart thliding out of my theath, prething up againth you.  How would it feel?  Would I be warmer?  Cooler?”

“Cooler,” you mumble.  You didn’t really mean to.  You don’t regret it either.  You’re too focused on trying to maintain eye contact, which is unsurprisingly hard, with the supereffective combo of lispy dirty talk and a firm hand rubbing your closed sheath—not that it’ll stay that way for long.

You’re blushing too much, he’ll see.  Flustered, you reach out, tugging your husktop down so the focus is on your own crotch.  He goes to protest, but quickly shuts up with a little, “Oh,” when he sees the focus.  Now free to blush as much as you can, you spread your legs a little and rub in big circles, shuttering at the effort of keeping yourself sheathed.   

“Tho you’ve thought about it.”  You can’t see him, but there’s a breathiness in his words that tells you he likes that.  Fuck damn it, this isn’t going to work.  You skip the witty retort in favor of doubling over and ruffling through the bottom drawer of your desk. An array of snarky complaints come through your speakers about the sudden change of position, but you’ll only be like this until you find the damn thing, so you flip a tweetbeast in his direction and keep frumbling. 

There, got it.  External webcam.  You hold it up to your husktops camera, grinning slightly. 

“Oh come on kk, you made me wait for _that_?  Whath wrong with you internal one?”

“Shove it nerd lord.  This way my screen isn’t tilted as fuck to give you the view you so rightly crave.   I want to see when you stop teasing and start actually fucking stripping.  Which you should do.  Which I order you to do.”

“Eheh, roll play, ith that what you’re getting at?  Kinkier than I would have exthpected from you.  I can work with that.  Not tonight though.”

“Fuck you, just st—“

“Eheh, you and I both witth kk.  Now thhh, leth do thith.”

Yeah, that sounds good to you.  The fact that he’s shuffled back up to his knees, straddling his husktop until his crotch takes up your whole screen kills any protests you have left.  You take a moment to adjust your cam, focusing it on your own crotch, or rather, your hand grinding against your crotch.  Then you’re free to sit back and watch the show.  At least until you start leaking.  But who wants to plan that far ahead?

“Tho, I thought about having muthic to go along with thith, but turnth out I have no thenthe of rhythm, tho you’ll have to make due.”  His hips sway from side to side shyly, the first hint of hesitation you’ve seen from him tonight.

“Stop saying ‘sexy’,” you growl, trying in your own abrasive way to get his confidence back, “You’ll butcher any scraps of mood we’ve got going here.”

A huff comes through the speakers, and the screen suddenly changes, his face, set with determination, fills the screen.  He stares for a moment.

“Sexy,” he says slowly, almost chewing the word in an effort to get the sounds right.  A grin cracks his face in half, and for the first time ever, you think those oversized fangs are more attractive than dorky.  Fuck, you’re starting to get wet .

“Fuck it, if you won’t strip, then I will.”  He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning that stupid toothy grin.  You ignore him, standing up from your computer chair, adjusting your cam.  He wants sexy, you’ll give him sexy.  You’re the sexiest motherfucker around.  Your fingers work over the button of your jeans.  Wait.  Wait.  Oh fuck, _you’ve so fucking got this._

“Husktop,” you bark, “Resume song.  Volume up.”  The voice controls work for once, and shitty dance music you’re almost embarrassed to admit you listen to starts up.  You hesitate for a moment, then spread your legs to a little wider than your shoulders, bend your arms and extended them, and then, on the bass beat, rock your left foot up to your toes, popping your hip out in one of the few belly dancing moves you know.  You get into a rhythm, bring your hands in slow, tracing them down your chest.  You glance down at your screen, mostly to make sure all of you is in the picture, and get a quick glance at Sollux.  He’s biting his lip, pants and boxers down under his knees, still hovering over his husktop, yellow bulge weaving itself through his splayed fingers.  The last inch is bifurcated, just like his horns, and wow, you really want that inside you.

He notices you staring, and makes eye contact.  Abort abort, too sexy.  Eye contact is way too intense, and you don’t want to cream your pants in front of him.  You close your eyes, bringing your hands up to ruffle your hair, switching your hips to go in a wide circle.  Your hands trace back down you, slowly unbuttoning your pants and, here, you step a little closer to the camera, unzipping them. 

“Wow, you're good at thith part.”

“Shove it,” you mumble, turning slowly in place as you shimmy your pants down, until your ass is in full view.

“Yes sir.”

Ooh, you _like_ that.  You growl, deep in your chest, to show your approval.

You step out of your pants, do a lame attempt at a body roll, though Sollux doesn’t comment.  Probably because your thumbs are now in your boxers, stretching the elastics, giving him a brief hint of your ass.  You sway your hips in half time, pulling your boxers down a little with each sway, and soon their around your knees.

This is risky.  You’re not dripping yet, but your nook is wet.  You’re not sure if you’ve got any material visible between your legs from the back, but the fear of discovery is mixing with the thrill of dancing for an audience.  You slowly pull your boxers off anyway. 

Now completely nude, you drop a knee into your computer chair, shift your weight into it, and push off with your other foot, sending the chair into a slow spin.  While the back is still to the camera, you shuffle back to a normal sitting position, your junk out of view from the camera.

“Craptop, stop music,” you say, voice still a low rumble.  You like seductively dancing, you decide, and not just in the privacy of your own respiteblock. 

You’re smirking, eyebrows wagging as you switch your camera back to the internal one.

“Worth the _struggle_ of getting an external cam, you perverse douche nozzle?”

“Fuck yeeeeth,” he whines.  He gives a few more jerks of his bulge, then brings his hand up to his mouth, bifurcated tongue tips wrapping around his fingers, licking his own material off.  “Why’d you thop?”  You stare for a moment, nose wrinkling as you watch him lick his fingers clean.  His eyes flutter closed as he pulls a finger into his mouth and sucks.  

“You’re fucking raunchy.” You deadpan.  It’s got your bulge out though, and you don’t want to think about why.  You slide forward a little in your chair anyway, bringing too fingers down to your nook and scooping the material there forward, up to the base of your bulge as you wrap your hand around it, and _slide_ it to the tip.  Your other hand moves to your hair, curling firmly around a horn.  Mmn, yes, that feels good. Much better than alone.  You let your eyes close and your mouth part open.

“Are you touching yourthelf?”

“Ah, yeah,” you pause to let out a little hum, “Obviously.”  Clever remarks are not in the cards right now.  Embarrassment is also out the door.

“I want to thee.”  He’s moving, shimmies out of the remains of his clothes, and props himself up on the arm of his couch.  He slings one bony leg over on the back , letting the other one fall open.  His nook is in full view, dipping yellow slowly, bulge twisting on itself leaving smears on his torso.

“C’mon kk, I want to _theeee_.”  He does the eye contact thing again, and it makes you trill under your breath.  The hand around your horn curls, other slipping into your nook, a single finger pushing slowly inside.  You curl it forward, and, mmn, yeah, that’s good.  You let your head fall back against the chair with a small gasp.

“KK, you’re tho fucking thexy right now.”  His hand comes to life, small sparks dancing from his fingertips, and he traces around the inner folds of his nook.  You’re enraptured, and quickly move to copy his actions.  It’s not enough, but you want to last.

“Look at you,” he goes on, “Your hair ith all muffed, thath my favorite part.  And you hipth, hot damn, I want to grab them, get your bulge inthide me, and forcibly rock you in.”  He pulls three fingers together, holds them up to you.  “Ith thith big enough?”

“What?”

“Your _bulge,_ ith it thith thick?  Juth fucking thow me,” he huffs.

“Not going to happen.”

“Thath the whole point!” he yells.  “My nook is dripping on my keyboard in prime viewing pothition!  At least let me thee for a thecond!”

Your dip your finger back into yourself, letting yourself gasp louder than you would if you were alone.  “No.” Your voice is the breathy one now, as you start rocking your hips down.

“Why?!”

“Blood color.”

“Are you theriouth!  I know your rutht!”

That throws you for a loop.  But you’re not going to object.  In fact, you couldn’t be happier for that assumption. 

You look him dead in the eyes.  There are little sparks dancing out of them.  That’s adorable.  He’s losing control over you.  Suddenly you _want_ to show him your bulge, make him really lose control, know you’re the one responsible for that.  You thrust your finger a little harder into yourself.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing.”

“Your thit at dirty talk, remember?”

“I’ll be loud.”  You think for a moment.  “And I’ll get up close so you can see me give myself a horn job.”

He considers, shrugs.  “Whatever, I’m lothing my wriggly while you’re over there—“ he cocks his head, watching you rock in little movements.  It makes him bite his lip again, you’re almost afraid his fangs are going to break into his lip.  “—you’re over there finger fucking yourthelf.”

You grin.  “Yeah, it’s pretty great.  I hate to admit it, but you put on a good show even when you’re not trying.  And four fingers.”

He grins that cocky smile.  “Four fingers?” 

You sigh, take your hand off your horn, fold your four fingers together and hold them up to the camera.  “Four, not three.  My bulge.”

“Hoofbeath thit.”

“I’m thick, not long.”

He shrugs, crams his four fingers together, and, without stretching himself or even lubing up his fingers, shoves them all inside himself and starts thrusting. 

Your mouth falls open.  Holy shit, how does that not hurt?  The thought of taking that much makes your squirm.  No thank you, one finger and no stretching is just fine with you. 

You lean forward and plop your face down on your desk, horns now close up on the camera.  True to your promise, your start stroking one, letting out a small moan.  You don’t have much horn to work with, but they are extra sensitive when you’re aroused.  Which you are, without question.

You make eye contact for a split second, quickly looking away.  You take your hand off your horn, make eye contact real quick again, then lick down your palm.  You make contact again, and this time he growls before you can look away.  So you hold it.  You lick down your first three fingers, then bring them into your mouth, and suck.  You close your eyes as he starts talking.

“Fuck, yeth.  Ith like your thucking my bulge, hnn.  You like that, huh?  You like having my fucking amathing bulge in your mouth, thlithering  down your throat, you little pail thlut?”

You’re eyes flick open, and you glare.  Go as far as to let out a warning growl.

“Ok, ok, noted.  Gear thift.  You liked thith before.  Imagine I’m there.  I’m thiting in your chair inthead of you—you’re on the floor between my legth.  My bulge is out, and you nuzzle it a little, teathing me until I beg.”  He pauses.  “Ith thith ok?”

You take your fingers out of your mouth with a little pop. 

“Yeah, that’s ok.  I liked the you begging part.”

“Eheheh, of courthe you did.  Nice little power trip for you, eh?  You really got a kink for that, don’t you?”

You don’t acknowledge him other than a roll of your eyes, focusing on keeping a blush from coming to your cheeks.  Your bring your saliva slick hand to your horn again, hard around it.  You let out a couple of pleased sounds under your breath, then remember you’re supposed to be loud.  You moan.  It feels fake. 

Sollux rolls his eyes.  Or at least you think he does.  “Ith hotter when you’re natural kk.”

You try a different approach. You twist again, and gasp.  Gradually fuck your fingers harder into yourself.   “Mmn, yeah Sollux.  Ah, fuck, yeah!”          

On your screen, he’s arching his back, staring you down, one hand pounding his nook and the other jerking his bulge.  He’s a horrible mess, dripping from every orifice.  His horns are sparking bad enough that hap hazardous shadows are being thrown around the room in little bursts.  His whole body is moving in time with his thrust, chanting, “Ah,” softly under his breath each time he rocks his fingers fully into himself.

“Keep talking,” you definitely do not whimper.  You almost screw your eyes shut, but don’t want to miss this.  Your hand does the little twist again, and your hips twitch at their own accord.

He groans.  “Theriouthly?  Nn, fuck, I can’t,” he pauses, eyes closed tight for a second, “I can’t exactly, haa, thit kk, I can’t even get, ah, two wordth out.”

You growl at him. He sighs.

“You’re hovering a-above me.  And you’re not, fuck, haa, going thlow.  No, wait, a-ah, you’ve got me by the, hnn, hornth.”  He gives another exacerbated sigh, let’s go of his bulge, and roughly pulls on one of his larger horns, forcing his head back and exposing his neck.  You’re pretty sure he can’t even see you.  His hand lets up its pace, moving slow enough to squelch and ooze.  “You better fucking appreciate this kk, I was so fucking clothe.  Now thop fucking that tight little nook of yourth and thwitch to palming your bulge. It’ll work better.”

You stare skeptically for a moment.  You like your nook.  You’re pretty sure he’s gathered that.  But you trust him.  You do as he says, letting out an actual moan at the empty feeling.  “What if I want you in me?”

It’s his turn to stare.  “You want my mutated junk inthide you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.  Well.  Next time.  Thith will work better.  You’re jerking yourthelf, right?”

You nod, adding a little twist to both your horn and your bulge at the same time.

“Good.  Ath I was thaying.  You’re on top of me.  You’ve got my head pinned back, and your thucking on my neck.  You thlide into me nice and thlow.”

You nod, hand copying the movement on your bulge, gripping too tight in a weak impression of a nook.  You whimper.

“I, um.  I run my fingers through your hair.  Kiss up your neck, pressing my forehead against yours, and kiss you.  Uh…I kiss you deeply?”

“Eheh, kk, your tho cute.”  He wags his eyebrows at you.  “You want thith tender?  Romantic?”  He sighs dramatically, taking his fingers out of his nook and tracing yellow trails up his chest, to his face, where he nuzzles into them, smearing material all over his face.

Eww, gross.  That’s definitely gross, but you’re bulge likes it.  Not the direction you want though.  You _like_ his dirty talk.  So you try talking again.

“I press my forehead against yours.  And I move my hips.  We’re rocking together.  My…uh…my bulge…my bulge twists inside you.”

He snickers, his hand tracing back down, down, into himself again.  He brings his head back up, making eye contact and starting to twist his hand on his horns. 

“You’re bulge ith twithing inthide me.  You rock in harder, and I—I, hnnn, yeth, fuck kk, I bring my legth up around you, forthing you into me _harder_.  I like it fucking _rough._   Your nailth dig into my thideth, your teeth thcrape againth my neck—a-ah, kk, getting cloeth?  Cuth I am, didn’t really come down from before.”

Your voice is shaky.  All of you is shaky.  You nod, whimpering, fisting your bulge so hard it hurts.  Your hips are moving up of their own accord, and your desk chair is squeaking with your movements.  You hope Sollux can hear it. 

He’s shaky too.  His voice is coming in gasps.  “Can I, aahhah, kk, can I thop the dirty talk now?”

“Yeah.  Mnn, yeah.  Any second now.”

He trills, fucking trills to you, and spreads his legs farther than you thought he could, and really pounds his nook.

“Gonna, nn, beat you.”  And he does.  His back arches, and his head goes back.  Yellow dribbles from his bulge onto his stomach, and leaks from his nook onto his couch.  He doesn’t even care, digs his heels in, raising his back even more.

You stroke yourself, just for a few moments more, before you follow him, but it’s enough time for him to recover enough to watch you.  And he does, enraptured.  You jerk, convulse, double in on yourself, bright red dripping onto your hand and you don’t even care.  You let yourself slouch onto the desk, eyes closed and breath heavy as you let the last surges of orgasm overwhelm you.

“KK, theriouthly, you thould be in a porno.  You’re cumming face ith fucking amazing.  Can I record it? That wath tho intenthe.”

You grunt, looking to the camera and roll your eyes. 

“You’re not bad yourself Captor.  And no.  We’ll just have to do this again.  Enough to keep you sated.”

“Deal.”  He snorts, sitting up.  “Next time you’re thowing me your junk.”

You sit up to, and groan, wiping your hand on your thigh.

“Maybe.” 


	2. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more nerve racking then it has any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so a bunch of you wanted another chapter. So here it is. No smut this time, sadly.  
> But seriously, it makes me really happy that people liked it so much.

CG: HOW CLOSE ARE YOU?  
TA: fuck kk you ju2t a2ked that liike two miinute2 ago  
CG: IT WAS TEN.  
TA: ii ju2t tran2ferred ontwo D liine  
TA: whiich mean2 ii’m liike, 1/2 an hour out  
TA: nah iit’2 fiine. ii can fiind my way there fiine ii think  
CG: NOW LISTEN HERE YOU INCREDIBLE FESTERING FART BALLOON, WE ARE GOING TO DO THIS *RIGHT*.  
CG: WHEN WE MEET UP, IN PERSON, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, WE ARE GOING TO DO THREE THINGS.  
CG: ONE:  
TA: fuck up everythiing you’ve romantiicly planned  
CG: FUCK YOU.  
TA: wow eager much?  
CG: THAT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY ANYMORE, YOU DO THIS *EVERY* TIME.  
TA: well maybe that’2 becau2e II’M eager  
TA: really eager  
TA: liike holy 2hiit iif you don’t jump me the 2econd we’re through your door  
TA: iif you don’t fuckiing bend me over your de2k kk  
TA: or the wall ii2 good two  
TA: wouldn’t that be fun?  
TA: come on kk tell me what you’re goiing two do two me  
CG: WE ARE NOT SEXTING WHILE YOU’RE ON THE TRAIN CAPTOR.  
CG: WE  
CG: ARE  
CG: NOT  
CG: I *KNOW* YOU, YOUR DEPRAVED NYMPO ASS WILL POP A SLIMY, MUTATED WRIGGLY. YOUR PANTS WILL COME ALIVE AND SEEP YELLOW OOZE. YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY GET PULLED THE FUCK OVER BY A RESPECTABLE TRANSIT OFFICER AND PUT AWAY FOR INDECENT EXPOSURE.  
TA: wrong iit2 only iindecent expo2ure iif ii wiip iit out  
CG: YOU WOULD.  
TA: ii wouldn’t  
CG: YOU SO WOULD.  
TA: ii wouldn’t  
CG: EXOBISIONIST.  
TA: kk. KK. iit doe2n’t work liike that FUCK.  
CG: WHATEVER.  
TA: come on kk don’t be liike thii2  
CG: LIKE WHAT?  
TA: liike a whiiny biitch  
TA: you’re goiing two go pout iin a fuckiing corner  
TA: whah whah ii’m a HUGE UNDULATIING WRIIGLER  
TA: instead of beiing a HUGE UNDULATIING WRIIGLER, you 2hould 2HOW ME your huge undulatiing wriigly  
TA: >>;)  
CG: OH MY GOD.  
TA: 2how me  
TA: 2how me kk  
CG: YOU’RE STILL ON THE FUCKING TRAIN.  
TA: 2o?  
CG: SO SOMEONE MIGHT SEE!  
TA: excu2e2 excu2e2 there2 no one iin the yellow 2ectiion, just me  
CG: SIGH  
CG: JUST WAIT LIKE A COUPLE HOURS AND THEN IF YOU STILL WANT TO YOU CAN RIDE MY BULGE.  
TA: no  
TA: no kk no  
TA: we already went over thii2  
CG: OH?  
TA: when we get through your door  
TA: iin liike, 20 miinute2  
TA: you are goiing two pu2h me ontwo the neare2t flat 2urface  
TA: and fuckiing wreck me  
CG: OH MY GOD.  
TA: TWIICE  
CG: YOU DEPRAVED FUCK.  
TA: you liike iit  
CG: MAYBE.  
CG: (;  
CG: FUCK I FORGOT MY HORNS.  
CG: (;B  
TA: cute  
TA: let2 go back two talking about the 2HENANIIGAN2 we’re goiing two get up two  
CG: YOU SEEM TO BE UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT WE HAVE HAD A CONVERSATION GOING.  
CG: IF I REMEMBER CORRECTLY IT WAS JUST YOU GUSHING OVER MY BULGE.  
CG: WHICH IS ADMITTEDLY PRETTY GUSH-WORTHY  
CG: BUTS IT’S ALWAYS MY BULGE. THERE IS, Y’KNOW, MORE OF ME.  
TA: liike your nook  
TA: ii wouldn’t miind gettiing acquaiinted wiith your nook  
CG: YOU’RE SO *FUCKING* ROMANTIC CAPTOR, I’M SWOONING.  
TA: siit on my face kk  
CG: YOU DEPRAVED FUCK.  
TA: you’ve already 2aiid that one  
TA: eheheh, that mean2 you ARE gettiing at lea2t a liitle worked up  
TA: 2o now we both know you’re ju2t a2 exciited a2 me  
CG: ACTUALLY I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING TO PUKE.  
TA: eheheh funny that2 my liine  
CG: NO ACTUALLY.  
TA: no 2hiit?  
CG: NO SHIT.  
You are suddenly very glad this wasn’t a phone call, because you probably wouldn’t have been able to hang up in time. And how awkward would that be, Captor hearing puking sounds over distorted phone speakers right before meeting you for the first time. Actually, the asshole probably wouldn’t even care, with the amount of time he spends with his face in the load gapper.  
Thinking about puking is not making this anymore pleasant. Your communicrab is beeping, but you ignore it in favor of holding back the longer strands of your hair. You hover for a moment, stomach still in nervous knots.  
You wipe your mouth on your arm and sit back on your knees. In hindsight, you roll a hair tie off your wrist and proceed to put your hair up into the nubbiest pony tailever. Your hair ties are bright red, and it makes your stomach tighten up again, and you lurch forward. Time for round two, apparently.  
Past you is an idiot for choosing to wear red. Ugh, fuck, it’s on your hoodie too. Looking like a badass is not worth this. You yank it off, ball it up, and toss it into your ablution trap. With a quick tug, the curtain is closed, and you don’t have to look at it anymore. As much insurance as it is—candy red is widely regarded as the ‘don’t fuck with me’ color precisely because it’s the only color blood shouldn’t be—you can’t deal with it right now.  
You rub the heels of your hands into your eyes. You can feel the contact slip. You swear under your breath. Everything just has to be a federal fucking issue today.  
Your communicrab has been steadily beeping for the last couple of minutes. You ignore it some more, standing shakily and going over to the mirror. Once rust is arranged properly over your iris again, and after a few eye drops are added just to be safe, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Calm yourself down.  
You flush the load gapper. Keep talking yourself down. It’s just Captor. The likelihood of him killing you himself is very low. He’s the least likely of the friends you're still in touch with to turn you in. The fucker can’t even remember the hemospectrum order, or at least he pretends to not.  
Your crab beeps, and you’re honestly surprised you don’t scream.  
TA: kk  
TA: hey you’re not ACTUALLY pukiing are you?  
TA: ….  
TA: ….  
TA: well 2hiit you mu2t be  
TA: you never take thii2 long two re2pond  
TA: fuck ii bet you’re beiing a whiiney liitle grub about iit two, aren’t you?  
TA: boo fuckiing hoo ii can’t type wall2 of gray text two my best bulge buddiie about all the ob2ene thiing2 ii’m goiing two do two him  
TA: hey iif you 2uffiicate on your own puke and diie can ii still fuck you?  
TA: ok that look2 a lot weiired wriitten down than iit 2ounded iin my head  
TA: that wa2 a joke  
CG: OH MY GOD WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP?  
CG: LET ME VOMIT MY VITAL ORGANS UP IN PEACE.  
TA: oh hey kk  
TA: are you ok?  
CG: OH WOW, THANKS FOR THE FUCKING CONCERN.  
CG: NOW THAT I’M HERE, TYPING AGGRESSIVELY AT YOUR FACE, YOU’RE ASKING HOW I AM. I AM CLEARLY FINE.  
CG: THAT COMMENT ABOUT FUCKING MY CORPSE.  
CG: NOW THAT, THAT IS NOT FINE.  
CG: THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF FINE.  
TA: ii saiid ii wa2 2orry  
CG: NO YOU DIDN’T.  
TA: well ii miight a2 well have  
CG: WHATEVER. WHAT ARE WE AT NOW, T MINUS WHAT?  
TA: oh yeah about that  
TA: ii’ve been off the traiin for a biit now  
TA: iie long enough for me to realiize ii don’t have any fuckiing clue where ii’m goiing  
TA: ii’m back at the statiion now  
TA: come get me  
CG: YEAH SURE.  
CG: BE THERE IN A WHILE.  
TA: no, kk, no, what even doe2 a whiile mean  
TA: and wow ii don’t get any flack for that?  
TA: thii2 II2 Karkat Vanta2 riight?  
CG: HA FUCKING HA.  
CG: I’LL COME PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE IN TEN MINUTES, WILL THAT MAKE UP FOR IT, NERD LORD?  
TA: <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is already in the works! I have finials coming up, then summer, so expect a new chapter much faster than it took to get this one up.
> 
> Thanks to my friend [DitheringFool](http://www.harrypotterfanfiction.com/viewuser.php?showuid=231752) for beta'ing for me.


	3. Train Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are fully aware that this is not going to go down like one of your romcoms. You know that, honestly. You're just hoping he's actually there. And maybe for like, a quick hug, something suitably cute and awkward. Just not to awkward. That would be bad. But not the worst thing. You don't think you'll be able to deal with the worst case scenario. Oh fuck, you're getting anxious and panicky just thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, out of college. Aiming to get chapters out quicker this summer. We'll see, depends on whether I take summer courses or try writing for festivals. Anyways, this one's unbeta'ed, so its probably full of more dumb typos than normal =_= I'm sorry. Its been run through like three spell checkers though, so, fingers crossed.
> 
> Still no sexy stuff. Sorry. It'll come eventually.

You’ve hardly even broke a sweat when you arrive at the station. You push what little gathered around your hairline back into your hair; you can feel eyes on you. You glance around, catch two midblood girls near your age checking you out. They blush, and one of them waves. You nod, give them a small smile. Wait, fuck, today isn’t a day to bask in random stranger’s affection. Shit, one of them, the one that waved, looks like she gathering up the courage to come talk to you. Not today, unfortunately. You start back up your jog before she can come over.

You get around to the back of the building and see a small troll huddled on a bench, back towards you. He’s small and frail, but doesn’t seem to be afraid of someone coming after him as cullbait. And he’s popping pills like nobody’s business. That’s got to be him. Yep, bingo, four horns.

You jog around to his front, coming to a slow halt. He jumps—his horns pop little showers of red and blue. He looks pretty miserable—like allergies are killing him despite it not being the season, but he brightens when he recognizes you. Literally. His eyes jack up a couple notches even as the sparking settles down. He also gives you a very obvious once over, and you smirk. This would be prime time for some snippy dialogue, maybe a tiny self absorbed rant but…you kind of feel a teensy bit self conscious. In an awkward, wow-you’re-different-than-I-imagined-you-despite-literally-just-video-chatting-you-yesterday-and-I-don’t-really-know-how-to-proceed-from-here kind of way.

“Oh thank fuck you’re here, I can take thethe now.” 

He digs into his small bag—it’s red and blue, just like his dumb glasses—and pulls out another pill bottle, quickly taking two tiny capsules. You’re about to open your mouth and ask what they are, but he goes on and explains.

“Thionic blockerth. They help deal with thith,” he gestures to his face. He stuffs the bottle back in his bag, does the same with the other one, pausing only to clarify that the unknown meds are painkillers.

“Aren’t you about as useful as a sack of literal shit without your freaky mind powers though? Shouldn’t you be, oh, I don’t know, at least a little worried? What if someone decides you’d make excellent cullbait—because you do. Tiny shaking frame, arms like willowy twigs—you’re like a fucking sapling, shuttering in the incoming storm of social expectation and predatory glances. Seriously dude, you’re a mess.”

“Thankth but I’ve been doing juth fine without a luthith for a while now kk.”

You roll your eyes and scoop up his bag, slinging it across your back. Then your hold out your hand to him. He takes it, jumps up, and drapes himself against you. The tips of his horns come to your eye level. That’s adorable.

“Motherfucking thwoon. Thuch a gentaltroll kk.” 

“Even for your undeserving, pimpled, taint chafe.”

You laugh together for a moment, before the touching gets awkward.

You lead him back around the station. The girls from earlier are still there, and the confident one is giving you the eyes. Sollux seems to notice, because he suddenly grabs your hand and starts popping from the horns again. You laugh and hip check him. And then decide to reiterate how awkward this situation is getting, because maybe if you keep banging your head against the wall of tense words and guarded behaviors that suddenly cropped up when you’re in the same physical place as him, it’ll go away. You stop, turn to him.

“Don’t bite.”

“Huh?”

Before he can keep talking, you tilt his head up by the horns, bend over, and kiss him. His horns crackle with energy, and you jerk away. The look of shock on his face is magnificent. You snort, and pull him along like nothing happened. The idiot trips after you.

“What the hell wath that kk?”

“That was me indulging you. Because really, the only way you could be anymore transfuckingparent about your feelings would be to broadcast them in red and blue technicolor. Oh wait.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then a shower of sparks tumble from his eyes. He hisses, pulls his hand away from yours so he grind both palms into the static. It takes a couple moments, moments where you just stand there dumbly, before it stops. He sighs, and pulls his glasses back down from where they were jostled before.

“Ok, so, you’re going to explain what that was. Because that has never happened before.”

“It happenth all the god damn time, kk. Welcome to the wonderful world of being a high level pthionic without the thity carcuth cut out to hold thusch immenthe power. Ith juth dithcharge. The blockerth make it frith.” He laughs nasally. “I’ll try to warn you if I’m going to thneethe.”

You resume walking, and successfully restrain from looking back to see if those midbloods were still checking you out. You have a problem, you know you do, it’s on your get-shit-done list, you swear, just near the bottom, after important fuckery like securing your next meal and not spewing bodily fluids in front of anyone. The walking sack of shit trips along next to you, a constant stream of psionic power radiating off his horns. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why do you even take the fucking things? Especially after all your constant high-and-mighty bragging about your power rating and ways to touch yourself erotically with your own disgustingly twisted think pan. Shit doesn’t add up bro.”

“Thonicth and junk doethn’t really combine well dumbath. Though we can try if you’d like.” He laughs again.

“And here I was thinking we could leave your one track mind in the dust for once, but nope! Never mind. Silly, silly Karkat. Dumb ass move there, having expectations of Captor. I was but a—“

“Ok, I think thath enough kk. Leth juth get back to your hive tho we can do thith.”

“This? What is this? Continue laughing about your bodily fuck ups?”

“Yeth, but in a way that involveth a lot leth clothing.”

“Ah, yeah. About that.”

You still haven’t told him. You set up this whole clusterfuck and you haven’t told him yet. Fuck, fuck—oh no, he’s frowning.

“I didn’t think your rethervationth were real.”

“Well. They were. Are.”

The trail of psionics flares up. “Then what the fuck wath that kith!”

“It was. A fucking. Kiss. Reservations don’t mean not interesting, you festering ass stain. Don’t get your bi-colored panties in a fucking twist. You will get plenty of them. And more. If you want. I ju—“

“I do want. How much more exthithidly do I need to thay it, FUCK.”

You make a choked, frustrated noise. Why does he have to be so difficult? 

You wouldn’t like him if he wasn’t so difficult. 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!” 

And there goes your nutrition sac. It is flipping.

“You don’t!”

It’s flipping right off the handle with an acrobatic fucking pirouette. Just breath. Nice and slow. You can do this. You’re almost back to your hive.

“Are you ok?”

No, you are very much not ok. Your think pan is racing to fast over worst case scenarios. You really don’t want to puke again. But it’s starting to look that way. Look at you, going zero to sixty on the anxiety train in seconds flat. This has got to be a new record. 

“KK, your wheething. I feel like I thould be contherned here. What the fuck am I even thpothed to DO in a thituation like thith though? Thould I juth, like—“

“You should just like shut up so we can resume this conversation in the relative safety of my hive.” It comes out all too fast.

You expect him to keep pushing. That’s all he fucking does. But he drops it. Especially after he give another burst of sparks. This one is bad enough to blind him, and you have to stop for five minutes before it stops. You not so secretly use it as a break to wrestle yourself back into control. You are ten thousand percent sure your neighbors are watching.

Eventually you make it into your hive. You stoop down to slide off your shoes, and he surges up. There are arms locked around your neck, and a skinny nerd smashing his mouth against yours, initiating what is quickly adding up to the worst kiss of your life. You humor him though, because that’s kind of the point of this entire trip, putting a hand in his hair and trying to get him to let up a little. You feel him smirk.

And then he fucking nips you.

You smash one hand into his face, pushing him off you, while the other hurries to cover your lip. You can’t tell if the wetness there is saliva or blood. You bolt to your ablution block high on adrenaline, leaving a very confused Captor behind at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is my love of awkward romantic fumbling showing yet? I sure hope so.
> 
> This is turning into something a lot bigger than the one-shot it started out as--I'm not really sure where its going. I might make it into a series so I can get some prequel shit in, I dunno. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me for this clusterfuck ^.^


	4. Tricky Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not going to have a panic attack. Maybe if you just keep repeating that to yourself you won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, I actually updated in a timely manner. Thanks again to my beta for catching all my nasty typos I make while typing at four in the morning, I don't know how she does it. Seriously folks, she doesn't even read homestuck, let alone like it. Lets give her a hand.

“Karkat, what the fuck wath that?” is all you hear before you slam the ablution block’s door shut and lock it. No doubt he’s rushing after you, volatile temper already set off. That or he stormed off. You’re not sure which you prefer. Maybe a third option, where you just wither up and die, preferably when you were still in the brooding chambers, so that you never have to start down this clusterfuck that makes up your life. Yeah, that is definitely the most desired outcome, you’ll take door number three, thank you very much.

Anyways, back to the situation at hand. You press up awkwardly against the rim of the sink in order to lean as close to the mirror as possible. You press down on your lip, and the tiniest bead of blood wells up. 

You bite your lip. You could use this. It could be an easy way to tell him—which you have to do, you remind yourself. But the adrenaline is already falling away and you breathing is already getting shaky. The pair of double knocks on the door doesn’t help.

You lick away the blood, and are pleased to see it’s stopped bleeding. You brace yourself on the cool ceramic of the sink and take a few calming breaths, blocking out whatever the scrawny nerd is shouting at you from the other side of the door.

You open the door and almost hit him in the face. He’s sparking again, and the near miss only excites it more.

“What the fuck wath that?”

You don’t answer. At least not immediately. Or directly.

“Let’s go watch a movie or something. Are you hungry.”

“Oh my fucking god kk, anthwer the quethtion. Anthwer or I’m leaving.”

You grab him by the arm and tug him forward, toward your recreation block.

“It’s complicated.”

“Bullthit. Wait. Don’t tell me thith ith about your blood.”

You silence is answer enough.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. This ith a joke, a huge fucking joke. Ha ha, leth thee what I can pull out of my ath to convinthe the nerd that I’m actually interethed in him, and not just dragging him along on an elaborate thcheme hinging on my hemoanonymity!”

“Oh, yeah, because I’m definitely psycho enough to derive joy from that. Such an impressive heist, capturing the one-sided affections of an ugly ass motherfucker, when I could just about land the pretty green bulge of Troll Will Smith himself. Very likely, seriously, do you even hear yourself?”

You push him onto the couch, and he deflates. He rubs at his temples as you plop down beside him.

“What elthe am I thpothed to think? You thaid it yourthelf, in about fifty more wordth than was necethary—what elthe ith new—you’re way out of my league. Ith not like I have any redeeming qualitieth in the perthonality department either. Eheheh, well, I gueth I’m totally detherving of you in that department then. But…wath kithing me really that groth? I mean, you theemed to be ok with it when we were walking tho I juthed figured—“

“No, no, it’s the blood thing.” Saying it out loud makes your breath stick in your lungs. “Though you kissing is pretty gross. No technique at all, it’s nasty. If I didn’t know better I’d peg you as the never-been-kissed ten sweep old in a romantic comedy, but that would mean you’d have to be a loveable wise cracker, which we both know is utterly ridiculous.”

He turns you and gives you the most frank stare of your life. “KK you know I don’t give a thit about blood. We’re not even that far off. Yellow and rust are like, what, two apart? Three? Ith whatever. Here, look, even temperature—“He grabs one of your hands in both of his. “—wow actually you’re pretty fucking warm. I don’t remember AA being this warm.”

You jerk your hand away. “That’s because Aradia and I aren’t the same color.”

His horns pop twice, and he looks like he’s going to say something, but he bites his tongue instead. There’s a moment of silence between you, most of which you spend avoiding his gaze. Or at least you think you are. You can’t really tell where he’s looking with his freaky ass eyes.

You break first. You start babbling. You’re not even sure what you’re saying. You think you’re dropping apologies for things you haven’t confessed yet, and you’re on the brink of tears. Sollux mercifully breaks you out of this pointless tirade. 

“KK you have been repeating variationth of your favorite expletiveth intermixed with ‘I’m thorry’ for the path two minuteth. I think there wath a chain of ‘Oh god’ in the middle thomewhere too. All ith doing is making me pretty fucking confuthed, like FUCK, juth thay what you’re going to thay already!”

You groan out of frustration. You are officially too close to a panic attack for words. You want to curl up in your ‘coon and let the soper do what it’s supposed to. But instead you set your shoulders back, and with trembling fingers pop your left contact out. You turn to Sollux, worrying your lip.

He just kind of stares.

“Tho…you’re big thecret ith you need glatheth?” 

If something as little as words could break you out of panic attack territory, those words would be them. As it is, they don’t ramp you up anymore.

“No, you festering poop stain, I don’t need glasses. You’ve got being stupid down to a fucking science, break out the beakers and test tube, they’re colored contacts genius.” You pop the other one out, pull their case out of your sylladex, and stash them again.

“KK I thill don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

You take a couple deep breaths, calm yourself down. Sollux is obviously getting fed up—his psionics still haven’t cut out all the way, and you’re starting to learn that the pops and sparks aren’t a good thing. Something tells you you have about two seconds before an angry outburst. So you lean forward, right in his face, eye to eye. His cheeks flush. That is not the reaction you were hoping for.

“Look at my eyes. Tell me what’s wrong with my eyes.”

He loops his arms around your neck and pulls you in to whisper against your lips. “They’re open, that’th the problem.” And then he kisses you. And you shove him off.

“Sollux fucking Captor, I am going to start crying ugly pink stress tears if you don’t take this seriously!”

“Pink?”

“Look at my eyes, tell me what color they are.”

“Rust.”

“Now you’re just fucking with me. Stop it man, just this once, don’t push me into the wonderful plains of sugar and buttercups that is panic attack land. They’re red. My eyes are the same color as yours. You’re one. The red one. Obviously. I’m not a high blood. The opposite.” 

“Thith might be a good time to point out that I’m effectively color blind.” He sparks, grins sheepishly, and gestures to his little light show. “Everything is kind of red-purple-blue glowly. Tho your eyeth juth look really, really red. But so do your horns. Oh, wait, ith thwitching to purple now. Onthe the blockerth kick in all the way thit will thop glowing tho much and I’ll thart being able to thee colorth the way everyone elthe doeth. That won’t be for a couple more hourth though.”

Fine. That would've been too easy. Of fucking course he’s the one of the few trolls on planet to have psionics so strong they fuck with his vision. So you grab his hands in yours instead. Hopefully freaky mind powers don’t mess up his perception of temperature too. “Feel how warm I am? It’s because, hn, ok. I’ve never said this before. You might want to call the drones now, so they’re here before you get too disgusted with me. Maybe they’ll even help you scrub your think pan clean. Anyway, yeah, fuck. I’m off spectrum. My blood is candy fucking red.”

“Ok cool can we have thexy times now?”

“What?”

Instead of answering, he just smirks, shuffles awkwardly up onto his knees, and clumsily straddles your lap. He just sort of waits there expectantly, grinning.

“I repeat. What?”

“I don’t actually care.” He goes in to kiss you, and you dodge. He makes a frustrate growl, and sparks twice. “I. Don’t. Care. We can be fucked up mutant gene garbage together. I kind of figured thome thort of major fucked up happenthance had to be going on with you. Kind of figured it would be blood with your gray thit. I don’t care, red ith pretty, temperature difference ith thexy. Let me thuck your bulge already.”

He goes for the zip on your pants, and your eyes go wide. You are not ready for this. All of your processing power is going towards getting your thoughts in order, because wow are you jumbled right now. Mostly you’re relieved. And yeah, you wouldn’t mind if he blew you, but you want your first real sexual experience to be something you remember, and you are sure as fuck won’t if he does it right now.

So you steer into more familiar territory. For you, because it’s pretty clear to you that he has never done anything like this before in his life. You take his hands and pull them away, and he starts apologizing. 

“Thit, I’m thorry, I juth, wow, that was really fucking thitty of me, Thollux Captor, bonafide almotht rapitht. Let me juth fuck the hell off right now, I can take the early train—” He starts getting up halfway through his little speech, so you wrap your hands around his waist and pull him back down.

“No, shut up. You’re fine. Just…just not now. My think pan is still racing a fucking mile a minute, I’m going to win the Alternian national marathon by a landslide, it will be glorious and ground breaking, and look at me, I’m going so fast I can’t even pull out the heavy duty metaphors like I usually do. That is how flabbergasted I am about you not wanting to turn me in. So, I guess what I’m trying to say, please shut me up with a kiss right now, but let me take the lead, ok?”

“Tho what your trying to thay ith, ‘thut up and kith me’?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to do it.”

“Anytime now.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, I’ll fucking do it.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

So you do. And it’s your gentlest kiss with him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I'm going to be changing the title of this clusterfuck to "Gaining Traction" so look out for that. Cam Shenanigans was fine when it was a one-shot, but now that its turning into an actual thing I think it should have a name change. The next chapter will definitely be under the new name.
> 
> Also, comments are my life blood. I look at and try to respond to every single one. They're what make me want to write. Comments that ask when I'll be updating next however, do not fall into that category. They will be ignored and possibly deleted depending on how moody I am. So lets stay away from those please, okay?


	5. Kissing from a smut book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got a part time job with early hours and 20 of them a week, and somehow that's got me writing more.

You end up on your back getting acquainted with his fucking amazing forked tongue, his legs straddling you in a way that makes it painfully clear your height difference won’t allow accidental bulge bumping unless you prop yourself up. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but he’s cool against you and his hair is just the right amount of short to feel that one specific I-just-got-my-hair-cut-with-a-number-three-buzzer kind of way. He seems to like your hair well enough as well—he latched on sometime after you went horizontal and hasn’t stopped ruffling it since. He’s been making his way steadily closer to your horns, and you’re not sure if you want that or not right now. You definitely want to touch his horns. He’s still sparking occasionally, though it’s starting to die down, and you kind of want to find out what it feels like before it goes away for the next who knows how long.

You figure the best thing to do is to stop the sloppy make outs and ask him if you can. He’s starting to go back to his overenthusiastic, it’s all about the tongue, no, seriously, let me tongue fuck your mouth in ways I obviously learned from reading fanfics about tongues battling for dominance ways, and frankly, you’re not into that. So you move your hands to his shoulders and gently push him away. Wow, what the fuck happened for him to instantly jumped to rejection? You sigh and hug him close to you as he tries to pull away while sputtering about how sorry he is for overstepping boundaries he imagines you have. And then you talk over him.

“Can I feel you up?”

“What? Wait, what?”

“Your horns. Can I grope your horns?”

“You’re not mad?”

You sigh and start sitting up, keeping him tucked tight against you. Really, this guy is so tiny and light; it shouldn’t be this easy to manhandle him.

“I’m not mad. Actually, I’m kind of mad. I’m mad that your kissing is so bad. We already went over this bro. It’s not all about the tongue, it’s just fucking not. I’m sorry to break it to you, I know I’m breaking all of your wrigglinghood hopes and dreams, but if any more of your nasty ass saliva dribbles down my chin, I’m going to get you a fucking bib. And yeah, it wouldn’t do anything , but maybe it’ll remind that bipolar excuse of a think pan you’ve got that kissing is not supposed to be this fucking messy. A little sloppy is fine. Kissing is wet, I get that. But I should not need a towel. Ok?”

“Fuck kk, grate my pride up a little thmaller, ok? I think it’s still exithtent. We’re not all the great Karkat Vantath, thmoocher extraordinaire. Don’t blame me that I don’t drench my pantth reading the purple prothe of cagerthtore thmut bookth.”

“Dude, I am not the one kissing from a smut book. That’s you. Sorry, get over it and let me teach you.”

“Oh becauthe you have tho much experienthe.”

“Damn straight.”

“Wait. You do?”

“Yep. So can I touch your horns? Will the sparks hurt?”

“Not thith dampened. And yeah, thure. Juthed the big oneth otherwithe I’ll probably pop a wriggly. Tho, you’re gonna tell me all about thith, right? Why haven’t you told me about thith before?”

You pull him a little closer, so his crotch is right up against your stomach, because damn, you want to feel it if he gets wriggly. He pushes his hips just the slightest bit into you. You move your hands to his hair, and you feel him tense. He doesn’t say anything though, so you lightly brush against his smaller horns—and he fucking shivers—on your way to his larger ones. You grasp his left one, and he sparks. It kind of tickles.

“Both pleathe,” he whispers into your shoulder. It’s the politest he’s ever been. You kind of like it, surprise surprise. So you comply. His breath catches and he loops his arms up around your neck. It’s really cute. He sparks again, longer this time, and it feels like it’s curling around your fingers and up your arms. It peters out quickly, and you definitely miss the light prickly jolt of it. Looks like you have a thing for psionics. Great. The one sitting in your lap laughs nasally. 

“Thath the bethed I can do on the blockerth. And I won’t even be able—oooh, yeth.” He cuts himself off when you twist your hands on tandem on his horns. He tries to press closer to you and up into your hands at the same time, in a confused, conflicted half wriggle. This is amazing. How is he this sensitive? He can’t be that aroused yet, you would definitely feel some movement in his pants. And his horns are much longer than yours. You twist again and he whimpers.

“Ok, I think we need to thtop.”

You switch to ruffling his hair before resting your hands around his waist. He carefully tucks his face up against your neck. He smells really good, like, like, like you don’t even know. Like you want to kiss him again, but for even longer this time. His breath is just under your skin temperature, and it feels weird against your skin.

“How are you that sensitive? Did I miss your bulge unsheathing or something?” You press your hips up against him jokingly, and he exhales heavily.

“No, no, thonicth. It thopothedly maketh hornth a lot more thenthitive, you fucking dumbath. Hell if I know though.” He laughs. “And I’m thure you of all people know what they thay about trollth with thmall hornth.”

You frown and buck your hips up against his again. He hisses and curls in on himself.

“I altho might be really turned on.”

“Ha, I fucking knew it.” Pheromones. That’s what you were fucking smelling.

He whines and mumbles into your neck. His breath is still cool and that’s still really fucking weird. Now he’s mumbling something, and fuck, you can feel his lips move on your skin, and it feels really nice. And kind of romantic if you squint. Mostly just sexy. You want to grab him by the hips and grind up into him. He probably wants that too. You wonder if you smell as good to him as he does to you.

But now is not the time. You have plans for tonight. He doesn’t know that though, so he grinds down on you and starts working a hickey into your neck. Which is definitely not ok. You want to go outside tonight thanks. You also panic a bit, because you’ve been in a situation like this before and that is a bad memory. 

You grab him by his larger horns and push him off of you, sideways, so he lands with his back in the armrest of your couch. His eyes are wide, and you can’t fucking tell what he’s looking at, you can’t read his expression at all. But then he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls his legs up against himself. 

“Sollux?”

He cracks one eye open. “Yeth?”

“What the taint chafing fuck was that?”

“I would make a thnarky remark about how I thhould be the one athking that quethtion if I wasn’t so incredibly arouthed right now.”

You are also incredibly aroused right now. Not pants ruining aroused like you're pretty sure he is, but enough to do something stupid you’ll blame on hormones later. You eye him up and down and he just glares.

“Tho are we gonna fill thome pailth or jutht fidget around each other in the motht awkward dithplay thith thide of the planet?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” you say, standing up and turning to Sollux. You grab his legs and straighten them, before straddling him and hovering just above his lap. He’s bright yellow. “We’re going to make out some more.” You roll your hips down gently, so your ass just barely ghosts across against his crotch. “And I’m going to see if I can get you to come in your pants before I unsheathe.” 

“Holy thit kk.”

You smirk, lean down and peck him on the lips. “How’s that for dirty talk?”

“You’ve been practicing.”

“I’ve been practicing,” you agree, awkwardly swing your leg over him and standing back up.

He scrambles upright. “Wait, wait, why are you getting up—“

You reach down and flick his horn. “We’ve got plans.”

He drops back onto your couch groaning. “I thought fucking wath our plan.”

“We have reservations first. Under your name. Obviously.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“We’re leaving in five, asswipe.” You grin as he looks back in forth from you to the bulge in his pants.

“Tho that’th how it’s gonna be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This initially ended in a set up for porn. Karkat's "lol just kidding' was originally him making plans to ruin his couch. I had already started writing chapter 6, and it was going to end with kk making sol jizz his pants, but my beta called me out on pacing and lack of plot, so looks like we're going to be saving that for later. That or I'll write a little spin off 'what if' ficlet because I really liked where it was going, even though my beta was right.


	6. BONUS CONTENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THIS CHAPTER IS NOT CANON FOR THIS FIC. THIS IS BONUS CONTENT. FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS CHAPTER IF YOU'D LIKE. I WOULD ESPECIALLY RECOMMEND SKIPPING IF YOUR NOT INTO THE SMUT THING. BUT YEAH, JUST REITERATING, BONUS CONTENT, NOT OFFICIAL, THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL RESUME THE STORY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted the 'what if' fic, I give you the 'what if' fic.
> 
> I was going to post this as a link to my tumblr, but then it turned out longer than I though, and actually has some important tidbits about Karkat's past romantic and sexual adventures, so I'm just putting it up as a bonus chapter here.
> 
> This is also un'betaed and written very late at night, so sorry about that.
> 
> Also a quick note about troll jizz. I personally think its really inconvenient/unhealthy to constantly be producing bucket fulls of genetic material, because seriously, the amount of water that would take. So I headcanon material production on a cycle going from not at all to bucket fulls. So that's why Sol isn't worried about ruining his pants.

“Tho are we gonna fill thome pailth or jutht fidget around each other in the motht awkward dithplay thith thide of the planet?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” you say, standing up and turning to Sollux. You grab his legs and straighten them, before straddling him and hovering just above his lap. He’s bright yellow. “We’re going to make out some more.” You roll your hips down gently, so your ass just barely ghosts against his crotch. “And I’m going to see if I can get you to come in your pants before I unsheathe.”

“Holy shit kk.”

“Are you going to ruin my couch if we do this?”

“Nope. I’m low.”

“Fantastic.”

You kiss him softly, trying to get him to go along with it. For once he doesn’t try to shove his tongue down your throat. So you reward him by settling down your ass on his crotch. He sucks in air real quick, and you lift yourself up again immediately. 

“To heavy?”

“No, no,” he says, reaching up and pulling you back into the kiss by your horns, which is so incredibly hot, you thought your horns were too small to do that and you’re so fucking glad they’re not. He pushes his hips up against you and whines; “Do it again.”

You grin, lower your upper half so you’re resting on your forearms, chest to chest, forehead to forehead. His hands on your horns are shaking slightly, and this close to him, you can see sparks dancing in his eyes; you mean literal red and blue pinpricks of electricity, not some bullshit romcom trope trying to get you to believe in unrealistic romantic standards.

You grind your hips down, and his eyes immediately shut. His mouth opens in silent wonder as you keep your ass pressed firmly against him, and wow, you can feel his bulge squirming against you, even through his pants. It’s not the first time you’ve been in a situation like this, but it’s definitely the most enjoyable.

You let your weight fall on him slowly, because let’s face it, he’s a tiny guy. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, so it must be alright. You shift your hips a little to get his bulge away from your sheath and more on your thigh, because as awesome as this is, the point of it is kind of to blue globe yourself to the extreme. Nothing new there, just a harder difficulty setting. 

You kiss him as slowly as you grind into him. He gasps and lets out a small sound, pressing up into you. He moves his arms to lock behind your head, and gets a hand on one of your horns. He obviously distracted, but his fingers move in what is supposed to be a horn job. For all his inexperience, it feels good, and you let yourself start to purr. You’re bulge twitches in your sheath. You’ve got to speed this up. 

You kiss away from his mouth, to his chin, and then nudge his head back until he complies. You kiss down his jaw line, down his neck, a makes another small sound. You nip him gently, and he gasps.

“Do that again.” His voice is breathless, and you comply slowly, kissing and sucking until you get to the collar of his shirt, then tugging that aside and nipping carefully at the newly exposed skin. He jerks against you, and you grind back down. The hand around your horn tightens, and he clumsily drags your head back up so he can smash his mouth against yours. You hiss and pull away, and he sobs.

“Thorry, thorry, I jutht—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

He complies, and you duck your head back to his neck and nip again. He shuts the fuck up, and curls his fingers into your hair. You rock into him for a bit longer before he throws his head back and shutters. 

Thank fuck he’s at a low point in his cycle. You were half expecting for at least your pants to be soaked yellow. But instead his orgasm is quiet and clean, and you almost wouldn’t have known if he didn’t suddenly go still.

You grin and sit back up. Sollux is boneless below you. You flop back onto the other arm of the couch, before rethinking and moving to pull the tiny psionic up against you. He clings you and purrs, tucking his head against your neck as best as his horns will let him.

You fish the remote off the side table and turn on some shitty action movie. You think Sollux is asleep when he speaks up.

“What about you?” The question is accompanied with a kiss to your neck. His lips are soft and just the right amount of moist. He so hesitant it’s endearing. You’ve never been treated like this before. You’ve been in many flings with a lot of trolls, and not one had ever protested when you declared that everything had to be one sided. You’ve never been on the receiving end.

“It’s fine,” you say. And you mean it. He already knows your blood color. The only thing that’s keeping you is force of habit and nostalgia. And anxiety too, you’re not going to lie. But his lips on your neck feel nice. And you trust him.

“KK,” he says, voice low and concerned.

You tilt your head back for him. “Just a little,” you say. “I was serious about not wanting to mess up my couch. And I will, I definitely will.”

You feel him smirk against your neck, and he shimmies around a bit, slotting his legs between your own. He grinds his knee into your sheath, and it feels good, real good, but your hand shoots to his leg and keeps him from repeating the action.

“Ok, ok, fucking fine. What ith ok?”

“Just…just keep doing what you were doing. Before that. And no marks.”

“Yeth thir.”

You let your head fall back against the couch and your eyes close. He has one hand on your cheek and the other in hair; the atmosphere is pale even if the actions are red, and it really shouldn’t feel this comfortable. He kisses up and down your neck and mouths at your ear. You start purring at some point, and so does he. Eventually he stops, just breathing against you. You wrap your arms around him, and he snuggles in close.

The two of you stay like this for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed bonus sex. Please keep in mind this isn't actually happening and this is all just bonus content.


	7. Past Tense Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sollux is a piss baby. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really, /really/ struggled with this chapter, and it fucking shows. I swear to god, I have never had writers block this badly.

It takes you longer than five minutes to get out of the hive, mostly because of Sollux. He has to go off grumbling to your bathroom to take care of himself. You wait awkwardly, on your couch, thinking about how you could have been getting him off right now if you weren't so determined to be theatrically romantic about this. 

You don't actually have reservations. With your blood color, there's no way you could, and he should know better than to think you could have made them under his. Not to mention that anyplace that lets a yellowblood make reservations probably isn’t worth making a reservation for. 

Soon you’re out on the sidewalks, walking with him again. It's a bit of a stroll, and he's very obviously not happy with you. You try to strike up a conversation, but all you get in reply are grumbles and the occasional small spark. Fuck, you hope he's not like this the rest of the night. 

You finally come up on the restaurant. It's a bit of a hole in the wall, and after the once over he gives it, it's obvious he doesn't think much of it. 

"Thith place taketh rethervationth? You fucking lied, didn't you?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was the kind of mood we had going." 

"The kind of mood we had going," he hisses, "Wath one that didn't involve my bulge retracting unattended!” 

“Look, I have a plan, ok? And while it’s not some unholy concoction of awesomeness and tyrian blood tears, it’s good. You’ll enjoy it.”

“I wath enjoying mythelf.”

You grumble and go to kiss him, but he bares his fangs and hisses at you. It becomes very clear that you are not going to score any points tonight. You haven’t been together much more than an hour and you’re already in the barkbeast house. If that’s not impressive, you don’t know what is. You shrug it off and decide to let him sulk over dinner, if that’s what will make him feel better.

And oh, does he sulk. It’s the most awkward dinner you’ve ever had in your life, and with all the first dates you’ve been on, that’s really saying something. He says nothing, save ordering, and a quick quip making fun of you when you mispronounce a more ethnic dish on the menu.

You’re tempted to ramble, because the silence makes you uncomfortable, but all you can think of is him, half a sweep ago, telling you your mouth is the reason you don’t have any quadmates. Normally that kind of shit doesn’t bother you—you know it’s true. He’s the exception, obviously, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to push it right now.

“So,” you say, after the waitress deposits your food and scoots away. “How was the ride over? Must have been fan fucking tastic, you haven’t bitched about it yet.”

“Yeah kk, itth almotht like I have better thingth to bitch about. Like, oh, I don’t know, my date being a motherfucking teathe, thurprith thurprith.”

“Look, you know why I did that now.”

“Oh gee, that doethn’t really help me in the patht tenthe, doeth it?” He gestures at you with your fork. “And it dotethn’t really help me twenty five minuteth ago either. You have no fucking excuthe. Don’t even thart with me kk, don’t even thart. I know you’re going to thart running that big mouth of yourth, and you thhould know that if you do, I’m thorming right the fuck out of here, cruthing all your romantic athpirationth under my heel in the motht embarathing way pothible.” 

“Well it’s not very romantic now, thanks a bucket ton—“ 

“What did I jutht thay Vantath?”

So you scowl , and eat in silence. He doesn’t break even when the waitress leaves you her number on the receipt.

He does break, however, on the walk back home. You take a turn, and you’re surprised that he remembers this isn’t the way back.

“What the fuck kk, are you telling me we’re not done yet?”

“No, we’re—“

“If we’re going to thee a movie I thwear I’m going home right now.”

You stop and turn to him, crossing your arms and jutting out a hip. “You’ve got golden globes and you’re sore as fuck about it, you’ve kind of made that abundantly clear. But here’s the thing. My ability to give a fuck about that flew out the window a half hour ago. If you’re going to keep throwing a fit like some pampered high blood wriggler, then maybe you should go home. Like fuck Sollux, you’re pissed, so get me back instead of throwing a fit.”

He makes the most exasperated sound you’ve ever heard, taking off his glasses in preparation for a fit of sparks that don’t come. He blinks, surprised, and touches the corner of his blue eye. His eyes flicker in that way that you know means he’s rolling them.

“Of couthe now the blockerth kick in. Jutht when I could have uthed them to zap you in your fat ath.”

“Yeah, they would have been a real hit where we’re going.” You start walking again, and he follows, hands in his pocket, shoulders slumped. It makes him look even smaller than he actually is.

“Where are we going kk?”

You smile wide. “My favorite place,” you say, nodding ahead.

His eyes narrow as he looks over his glasses in the direction you indicated. Then he looks back at you, clearly not getting it.

“It’s a club.”

“Bullthit.”

“Think what you want nerd lord, but we’re fucking going. And you’re going to like it.”

“How do you even get in, don’t they check blood? Fuck, I’m too low to get in, and I’m like, what, tippity top of the lowth? Thith ith a highblood thing kk, you’re not even on thpect—“

You punch him hard in the shoulder, hissing, “Shut up, I’m rust. Rust.”

His eyes go wide, both hands shoot to cover his mouth, and he looks around wildly. You groan and hang your head while Sollux grabs your arm and whispers apologies. This was such a bad idea. You’ve never met anyone worse at the hemospectrum than Sollux, but you thought he’d be above that kind of slip up. He’s a fucking hacker, aren’t they supposed to be good at keeping secrets?

Whatever. You’ve already decided you're ok with dying this week. At least he’s dropped that particularly sour attitude.

“I know the bouncers.”

“What?”

“And we’re going on lowblood night.”

He pushes his glasses and does a little skip to keep up with you, still hanging onto your arm. It's ridiculously cute. “But they finger prick, don’t they?”

“Relax. They know me. They’ll only check you.”

He squeezes your arm. “How the fuck do you manage thith?”

“Hm?”

“Thith,” he lets go of your arm to gesture at you vaguely as the both of you step into line, “Thith dithgusting confidence.”

You chuckle and undo the top two buttons of your button down. “Well,” you say drawing the word out. Sollux just shakes his head and takes a half step towards you as trolls get in line behind him. A runner comes down the line, checking eye color to make sure everyone is old enough and doing pricks.

“Hey Karkat,” she chirps. “Bend over for me?”

“Oh come on Jendel,” you purr, stooping to her eye level anyway. 

She giggles and boops your nose. “You get off easy, don’t complain mister.” You sigh over dramatically and give her your hand. You get stamped as Sollux stares wide eyed, looking quickly between you and her. She moves on to Sollux, who’s trying to hide behind you.

“Eyes please, sir,” she says tiredly. He stutters and you grab his shoulders and pull him up to her.

“Oh!” she says, turning to you again, “You brought a friend?”

“Something like that,” you reply, ruffling his hair.

“I’m hith quadmate,” Sollux squeaks, shyly giving her his hand. 

“I know how you get in there Kar, you really want your moirail seeing that?” She asks you, playful tone back. She pricks his finger, inspects the yellow oozing from the tiny puncture.

“He’s concupiscent actually,” you say. “Usually black.”

“No.” She says, turning to you, shocked. “Him?” Sollux slumps.

“He packs more of a punch that you think,” you say, putting an arm around his waist and pulling him against you. “He’s on blockers now, but this guy’s the highest level psionic this side of the planet.”

“No shit?” She says.

“No shit, just look at his eyes.” You elbow him, and he fumbles to take off his glasses. He blinks up at her. His eyes are still glowing in a way that’s clearly unnatural. His brow furrows, and a couple of sparks dance out. He then proceeds to look overly proud of himself. You and the runner look at each other, and burst out laughing. Sollux turns yellow.

“Ok, he’s kind of cute. I’ll allow it for now.” She glances at you and smiles while she stamps him. “I’m trusting you that he’s old enough, Kar.” You smile back, and she moves on to the next troll.

Sollux waits until the lines moved a little, then hisses, “KK the fuck wath that?”

“Hm?”

“I would never have—I mean, you—you’re a fucking flirt!”

“I can be,” you purr.

He has this look on his face that says the natural order of his world has just been upset. You move up the line with a dazed Sollux, until the bouncer, facing away from you, clips the rope in front of you. She turns, you pout. 

“Back again, rusty?” She laughs, flicking your horn lightly. You wince and rub at it.

“You know, what they say about trolls with small horns is true. I fucking tell you this every time, but no—“

“They’re just too cute rusty,” she laughs, and lifts the rope.

You grin, grab Sollux’s hand, and lead him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. I almost gave up. I'm a fucking one shot writer, and yet this is at over 10k. I almost said fuck it. I still might say fuck it. I dunno. We'll see. I'm looking forward to the club chapter, so we should be good for that, and then the smut that comes after. Past that I'm not sure.


	8. Strobe Light Downbeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important headcanon, faygo is basically alcohol on a sliding scale-- the lower your blood the more it affects you. Faygo poisoning is a thing but trolls are so tough its kind of hard to get there. They do get wicked hang overs though. Sollux's psii blockers make him more affected too, plus he's fucking tiny.

You can feel the bass in your chest and your eardrums are pushed to their limits. Sollux’s hand tightens in yours. He seems content to just stand there and gawk, but you pull him down the industrial stairs, and into the first room. He presses close to you as the music gets even louder. His eyes are wide, pulsing between full on glowing and not at all, in opposite time to the flashing lights. You think it’s pretty cool. He does not.

“KK how do you even fucking thee down here?”

“Your eyes adjust,” you say, grinning and pulling him towards the bar.

“Yeah, maybe yourth do,” he grumbles, eyes still lighting the off beats of the strobe. His free hand rubs at his blue eye as he trips after you. “I theriouthly can’t thee thit.”

He sighs with relief when you get through to the bar area, which is blocked off from the worst of the flashing lights. You shimmy your way up through the crowd of trolls, dragging Sollux like a bag of root lumps after you. It seems like that’s going to be a theme tonight. Great.

You slump against the bar, pulling Sollux up next to you. The barkeeper sees you soon and comes right over.

“Hey,” he says, really dragging out the word. “Karkat man, what can I get you? The usual?”

“You fucking know it, and also,” you turn your head to Sollux, “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having ith fine,” he squeaks, shy and out of his element. 

You and the bartender just laugh.

“What?” He says, then, more offended, “What!”

“Karkat here gets double doubles,” the barkeeper says.  


His eyes go wide. Oh shit, it’s his two thing kicking up. “I want that too,” he says, predictably.

“No you don’t,” the barkeeper says while you laugh.

His eyes kick up their brightness by a notch. “Ha fucking ha, I’ve had faygo before, I’ll be fine.”

“Get him just one, and open a tab. He can be on it too,” you say, and the bartender hurries off. Sollux is pouting hard.

“I’ve had faygo before.”

“Yeah, and I bet you bought it from the grocer drones. Shit isn’t like that here. This is fancy ass concentrated highblood shit. You’ll end up dead if you try to keep up.”

“I’m higher than you!” He hisses.

“Yeah, but you’re fucking tiny.”

He huffs as the bartender brings back your drinks. You grab your first and knock it back while Sollux sniffs at his. He makes a face that very clearly says he’s never had hard faygo before. You make quick work of your second one, and he tries to do the same. 

He actually ends up doing just fine, though the face he makes is perfect. You bend over and kiss him quickly, and honestly, he seems a little befuddled about that. His face is dusted yellow, and he looks around real quick for prying eyes. You just grin and pull him, groaning, back towards the dance floor.

“I can’t thee,” he whines as you take your place on the floor.

“So stay close,” you whisper into his ear, sliding your hands around his waist and pulling him flush against you. You start to move, dancing from your hips, rolling them up against him in a practiced grind. His face goes mustard and he goes stiff as a board.

“KK, there are people watching!” He says, voice high and trembling.

“We’re just dancing,” you say, manhandling him so you can get a leg between his, “And you fucking like that kind of thing.” You spend approximately thirty seconds trying to get him to dance, before someone behind you decides you look bored. There are suddenly hands on your hips and a bone bulge pressing into your ass. You bend over a little closer to Sollux, pushing your ass back into the troll behind you.

It’s way too easy to start ignoring Sollux and dancing back instead. Maybe he’ll get jealous and start dancing. Then you could be in the middle, which is the best place to be, obviously. Or Sollux could be in the middle because that would probably zing his two fetish. Soon you’re caught up in moving with the person behind out, ruffling your own hair, and throwing little glances behind you. The guy’s got some pretty killer horns, they’re big and sweeping, and fuck, you wish yours were like that, horn bondage must work so beautifully. He’s breathing on your neck and it’s cold and perfect, and then there are hands on your wrists, tugging you forward.

“KK.” Oh shit. He’s pissed again, isn’t he? “I need another drink.” Oh, thank fuck, you were sure he was going to be the jealous type. And you know what, you could use another drink or two too. Your head feels kind of light, but you’re planning on banging him later, and being drunk enough to care piss all about your blood seems like the best idea. Fuck remembering your first time; you’re going to have more faygo. You step away from the highblood behind you, and they just shrug and move on. You’re waiting for Sollux to lead you out; he’s closer to the outside, it just makes more sense, but he’s just standing there, squinting up at you, eyes pulsing even brighter than before.

Oh right. He’s blind right now. You lead him out, weaving in and out of the bodies and back to the bar. You see nothing wrong with him getting a double, and you get another two yourself. He slips his hand back into yours expectantly, and you lead him back through the winding hallways to one of the deeper dance floors. The lights there are flashing red and blue right now, and you look at each other and giggle as Sollux’s eyes copy it.

This time when you try to dance with Sollux, he cooperates. He dances from his shoulders awkwardly, feet stepping back and forth, ignoring your advances to try to get him to grind with you. He lets you guide his hands to your hips though, and soon he starts moving with you as you sway to the beat. 

It’s not your favorite way to dance—there’s not nearly enough contact—but you’re having fun, and he’s smiling, and fuck, life is just so great right now. Someone starts grinding on your ass again, putting their hands right over Sollux’s, and that’s great. Sollux frowns, but deals with it by taking a step forward and awkwardly starting to grind on your front. And that’s really great. You slide your hands around to his ass and pull him in close, and he seems to catch on to the idea.

Being in the middle is your favorite. Somehow you, Sollux and mystery troll set into a lovely pattern that has you in full body contact with someone every beat of the bass. Hands are wandering on your chest, you’ve got a handful of Captor ass, and you think that’s the beginning of your favorite song coming on, but you are definitely drunk enough that you’re not sure.

After what you think is a few more carefully controlled grinds, you find out, yes, this is your favorite song. You squeal; you’re not the only one; and your sense of rhythm disappears. You stumble out from between the two of them, and start following the general trend of people jumping up and down. It’s a little tricky, but you manage more or less. A hand follows you, latched onto your belt loop. Seconds later Sollux trips his way through the crowd that you failed to notice popped up around you. His mouth is moving, but you can’t hear him over the trolls, yourself included, screaming the lyrics. So you turn to him, jumping and pumping your arm as the best part come on, hoping that he’ll join in. He just kind of stares, then cocks his head and gives you the most adorable lopsided smile you’ve ever seen. He starts jumping too, and that’s it, your life is perfect.

You lose some time. You thought you were still in the middle of your song, but now you're back to grinding with Sollux. Someone comes up behind you, yet again. Wow, tonight is awesome. Sollux growls, you think, and you’re about to tell him off, but you can’t find your words, but it's okay, because his arms are around your neck and he’s pulling you down. This has got to be the messiest kiss the two of you have shared—which is saying something—but on account of being lowblood wasted, you don’t really give a shit.

This escalates. To the point that you find yourself on your knees in a bathroom stall, Sollux’s bulge squirming in your mouth. You’re a little foggy on how the hell you ended up here, but that’s not unheard of for you. Normally you remember the trip and the color of the bulge you’re blowing. Sollux is warmer than you’re used to, and louder, which makes your pusher skip a beat. You pull off and try to hiss at him to shut up, and it comes out slurred enough that you’re kind of embarrassed. Woops.

Whatever, let him be loud. It’s not like people don’t know your reputation around here. Now that you’re a little bit more in control of yourself, it’s time to step this blowjob up to your normal standard. Or at least close to them. Fuck, you’re drunk. Gamzee would be proud. Whatever even happened to that guy?

Sollux whines and his bulge nudges at your lips. Right, blowjob.

You open up for him, and his bulge makes its way into your mouth faster than even he seems to have anticipated, if the way he seizes up and bangs his horns into the wall is any indication. His bulge has this tiny little split in it that’s way cooler in your mouth than on a husktop screen. He straight up squeals when you press your tongue into it. You do it again, this time grabbing his hands and bringing them to your horns. His fingernails dig into the beds when you repeat the motion one more time, and your vision goes a little blurry. It’s a little too close to your nerve cluster, which you hope to convey with a grunt and a quick adjustment of his hand. 

He apologizes, you think. His lisp is so heavy now you can’t really tell, but he digs into your hornbeds again, and this time it’s so good you can feel your bulge twitch in your sheathe. You get your hand around the root of his bulge. Fuck, how is he so wet already; didn’t he say he was low? You guide the rest of him into your mouth and rub at the underside in a way that drives most trolls crazy. Doesn’t seem to do anything more panblowing than what you’re doing already. You bob a couple times, and he keens very quietly, almost under his breath. You pull off and spread your fingers for him; his bulge immediately starts twining itself through.

“You’re really fucking close, aren’t you?” you say, way too pleased with yourself.

He gazes down at you for a moment, before blushing harder and nodding. You giggle and forcibly twist his bulge through your fingers. His eyes screw shut; you lean forward and lick a stripe up his bulge. It thrashes, and his horns knock back into the stall’s wall. You decide that it’s your new favorite sound.

He whines again, pulling you closer by your horns. Not your hair. Everyone always uses your hair. Something in you flutters, and you’re too drunk to figure out what it is. You purr in appreciation and take him into your mouth enthusiastically. His body kind of jerks, and you grin as best you can. You hum, clumsily slide one hand behind his bulge to slip a finger into his nook. He jerks, hunches over, and starts pushing you away by your horns. You’re confused for a second before you get the idea. You pull off and back fast enough that you lose your balance and go toppling into the opposite side of the stall. You bang one of your horns, and everything goes a little fuzzy in a decidedly less pleasant way. 

By the time you’ve righted yourself, Sollux has come, and he seems to be at a loss at what to do with the yellow all over his hands. Oh shit, it looks like he’s about to cry.

“KK,” he says, voice trembling, “We jutht had thex.”

“I just blew you,” you slur, dragging out the word blew way more than it should be.

“Yeah,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants. A second later he seems to realize what he just did, and scrunches up his face in disgust. 

“Gross,” you say for him, before slipping into giggles again. He just makes a face before lurching forward and grabbing for your pants. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, not cool bro,” you manage to say, knocking his hands away.

“It ith cool, I’m returning the favor.”

“Not necessarily,” you say. You’re good at saying it, even when drunk. You have practice.  
“KK, c’mon!”

“No.”

He frowns, plunking his head against your chest. “Ith your thing ithn’t it?” He giggle, tracing fingers over your grub scars.

“You’re so fucking wasted.”

“Tho are you,” he croon.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, let’s head back to my hive.”

“And have thex?”

You fumble with the lock on the bathroom door.

“Why the fuck not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back at college now, and training to be an R.A. Don't expect monthly updates anymore. Also I planned this shit out. Looks like this story has the potential to be three parts, but I want to hear what you guys have to say. This and the second part will be smut fics. The third one is is going to be like all plot. I don't know what you guys are here for, so tell me what sounds good to you. 2 part smut or that plus story?


	9. Exponential Lightshows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So most of this writing took place at four in the morning in the emergency room waiting room. And let me tell you, its weird as hell writing porn in a hospital. In retrospect it feels so wrong. But anyways, thank my R.A. escapades for getting a chapter during finals week.

The bouncer smirks at you as you go out. You’re sure she’s making a comment to the other one about how you never take anyone back to your hive. Meh, gossip, whatever.

You somehow make it back without him sticking his hands down your pants, but it’s a close run thing. He latches onto your belt loop at some point and refuses to let go. It’s tugging your waistband down a little, but you guess that’s fine.

He slides his hand up your shirt while you’re fumbling with your keys. It just makes the fumbling worse. You growl at him, but it comes out funny. You’re too drunk to keep your rumbling low enough to be a sound of warning, it’s more like a purr, and yeah, that’s not what you’re going for.

“Sollux step the fuck off for like five seconds!” You’re still slurring. You don’t particularly care. 

He blinks wide at you, pulls his hand out of your shirt, and crosses his arms against his chest. He pouts.

It’s enough time for you to get the door open. You grab him by his belt loop—ha!—and drag him inside. You slam the door, and push him into it. He’s staring up at you, wide eyed, and he almost looks like he’s six again with that expression. It changes into a smirk quickly though, as he winds his arms around your neck and pulls you down for a kiss.

You miss each other’s mouths, lips smearing across cheeks instead, and you both kind of stare, surprised for a moment before laughing. You take his hand and drag him along to your recreation block, push him down a little rougher than you intended onto your couch.

You nudge his legs apart and drop to your knees between them, hands going for his fly.

“No!’ He hisses, hand smushing into your face. “Get your thethy ath up here.” He flops over sideways, bringing his legs up all the way onto the couch. He takes his glasses off with one hand, stretching it back over the arm of the couch, and beckons you over with the other. It looks pretty goofy, but his stomach peaks out a little from under his shirt and—and yeah, sure. You’ll do it.

You push up off the couch, standing over him. He drops his glasses onto the floor, reaching both hands up to you. You swing one leg over him, hike the other up onto the couch too, and kind of hover over him awkwardly. Blow jobs are the end of your experience. You have only romcom and trashy novels leading you now. You feel at least six times less dashing.

He whines. “Come on kk. What the fuck ith wrong?” He arches his back to push his crotch up against yours. “I like red. Let me fucking thee it. Or not. You could,” he grins wickedly, eyes kicking up their glow for a second, “Come in me. That would be hot ath hell.”

Your head reels. You mean to hiss, but you’re pretty sure it doesn’t come out right. “You’re sick.”

“Not thick, jutht kinky. C’mon, I can take it.” He unbuckles his pants, slides a hand down them.

It’s so different seeing him touch himself in person, and he’s not even aroused yet. You’re eyes are glued to his hand, and he knows it. You can almost hear him smirking.

“C’mon kk. Let’th do thith.”

Yeah ok. Ok. You’ll fuck him. You’re probably both too intoxicated to hack into your modus and get a bucket, and there’s no way he brought one. The shit stain never uses one; it’s disgusting.

And hot.

You bend your arms and lean in to kiss him. You feel his hand squirm out of his pants, joining his other to wrap around your neck. You fall into him, and he lets a breath out in a woosh. You push yourself back up on your elbows, but leave your hips flush against him.

You slip your tongue into his mouth, almost pricking yourself on one of his fangs. One of his hands moves up into your hair, brushing it the wrong way, and you feel yourself start to purr. You roll your hips down into him, and he hums in appreciation. His hand moves to your horn, working around the base in a way that sends shivers down your spine and makes you feel heavy. Your bulge starts peeking out.

You break the kiss with a gasp, sit up. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but shuts it once you attempt to pull off your shirt. Damn it, your coordination is so shot. Thank fuck you don’t have big horns to try to work around. 

You probably shouldn’t have had those last couple shots. Too late now.

You finally get it off after what feels like sweeps. He’s already got his off, and he’s drinking in your torso. You grin, roll your hips down on him again.

“C’mon, c’mon you fucktard. My thame globeth are going to turn golden thoon. It’ll be groth and all your fault. My bulge already acheth ath it ith, leth fucking go.”

“God damn do you ever shut up.”

“If you’d fucking make me.”

You growl, and it comes out right this time. You double over, press kisses into his collar bones, one hand holding you up, the other wrapping around his grub scar.

He squeaks, then giggles. “Thith is more like it!” You scoot back on him, wobbling a little, so you can get at his pants. You’re a little sad he’s already undone them, you like doing that part yourself. Instead you attempt to shuck them off. It doesn’t work. You teeter, and he doesn’t have the foresight to lift his skinny ass up to help. 

You end up standing up, and it’s very unsexy. He doesn’t say anything though, thank fuck. You wrestle him out of his pants and underwear. He swings himself up, gets right in your personal space, breath lukewarm on your chest. You bend your head to kiss him, and his hands slide down you.

They reach your belt, and you kind of want to stop him. All your instincts tell you this is too dangerous. But there’s a sort of thrill in that. He undoes it, moves to unbutton your jeans, hands shaking. 

He manages eventually, and one his eyes, the blue one, lets off a little spark.

He scrolls at that, blinks hard. "Fuck damn it." He sparks again.

Before you quite know what's happening, he's pried himself away from you, and, butt naked, is diving under your beverage plateau for his bag.

It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for you to figure out what's going on. You spend a little too much time staring at his ass, and hello, a little peek of his bulge. When did he even unsheath?

"Wait" you say, just as he's grabbed hold of his psionic blockers.

"What?"

"Don't take them." He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. "I like them."

"I might lothe control. I thpark a lot. Maybe more. I might burn thomething." He sparks, then laughs. "That wath on purpothe." 

"Do it again," you say, then drop to your knees and kiss him, winding your fingers around his horns. He sparks, you feel it tingle up to your wrist. It's not as strong as before. That's ok though; it's still enough for your bulge to unsheathe all the way. You exhale heavily into his mouth as it does. He pulls away to kiss at your neck. You shiver. His breath is cool against your skin, and you like that. Not freezing like a high blood--just below luke warm and perfect. You want to tell him this, but instead you say, "No marks."

He just hums and pushes you back against the couch. His eyes glow, and then your beverage plateau does as well; it skitters back a couple feet clumsily. Wow, his psionics come back fast.

He mouths at your collarbone, down your chest, until he gets to your pants.

"How about no vithual markth?" He grins up at you, hand flat on your crotch. He can definitely feel your bulge squirming.

"Sure."

It's a little bit of a production getting you out of your pants. He's more coherent than you are, which, fuck him, he might be the highest lowblood, but he should not be processing faygo this quickly. He grins up at you. 

All of the sudden you’re off the floor and hovering two inches above the reclining platform in a haze of purplish, tickly light. You make a startled sound, and his grin widens as he wrestles your pants off of you. He stares at your bulge for a long moment. You’re kind of uncomfortable. You try to move, but you can’t. You must make a panicked face, because you’re dumped unceremoniously onto your back a second later, and he’s apologizing as he climbs on top of you.

“I’m uthually better at that thit,” he says. “Fine pthychic motor control ith kind of hard right—fuck!” He cuts himself off with a low hiss as your bulges twine together. You yourself take in a shakey breath. His bulge is so cold compared to yours and it’s setting off all the right nerves in all the best ways. You prop yourself up enough to grab onto one of his big horns—he chirps—and drag him down into a kiss. You stay that way for a long while, kissing until you’re more just breathing on each other, bulges twisting together. It’s perfect, until he pulls away.

“KK, you’re kind of thtaining your platform.”

“Fuck.” You prop yourself up and stare at your twined bulges, as if somehow you could see the damage your nook is doing through him. You know what, whatever. You’ll worry about your platform later. 

He reaches down and pulls his bulge away from yours, and you whine. He shooshes you, which throws you for a loop for a second, before you decide you don’t care. He gets up to his knees, shuffles forward on you a little bit, and you suddenly figure out what he’s about to do.

There are psionics on your bulge, and the prickling makes you jerk, twice. He pauses.

“You ok?”

“Perfect,” you manage to gasp. He grins again, pulls it up to his nook, and the tip slides in. The psionics shut off, and he slowly lowers himself. Your bulge wriggles out. He laughs, god fucking damn it. 

You growl and take hold of your bulge yourself, trying to lead it into his fucking nook. He even tilts his hips forward for you, but the damn thing just refuses to wiggle inside. It just keeps twining itself through your fingers, and great, he snickering above you. Your growl kicks up a notch, and that just makes him laugh harder.

He gets his hand in on the action too, and fuck, it just decides to coil around his fingers instead. You really wish you had at least a little control over your rouge bulge, because this is going past embarrassing and into mortifying territory. 

Somehow he manages to get the tip of it up his nook. You make eye contact with him, and you’re both frozen for a second. After a long moment, your bulge slips out again. You both groan.

“Come the fuck on kk, my bulge is going to thheath itthelf again by the time yours figureth out what to do.” His voice has a low hiss mixed into it. Great, just perfect.

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t exactly have fine motor skills down there.”

“Well fucking get thome,” he growls. Then he sighs, collapsing down onto you. He grinds his nook half heartedly on your bulge.

“Maybe thith was a bad idea,” he says.

You panic. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“No, thut up. You’re thtill really drunk, this was a bad id—“he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. “Oh,” He says, full of wonder. Your bulge has finally decided, all on its own, to slide into his nook.

It’s slow, but it’s happening. He knocks his forehead against yours, and you breathe together for the long moment it takes your bulge to wriggle all the way inside him.

“Oh,” he says again, and a couple sparks pop from his blue eye.

“Oh,” you agree.

And then he’s kissing you. His breath is shaky on your lips, and his nook is cool around you. You twist and prod in him, and fuck, this is perfect. You want to do this forever, stay connected like this forever. It’s nothing like you imagined, and everything that you imagined, and fuck, he clenches on you and you see stars.

Literal stars. Star bursts. His horns are sparking like mad in these complex, bursting arrays he doesn’t even seem aware of. His eyes are squinted shut, and there’s this diluted yellow pooling in the corners. What the fuck? 

Oh. Shit. Oh shit.

You stammer, “Oh fuck, am I hurting you?”

“No,” He grits out. “Well, yeah, maybe a little, but ith good.”

You concentrate really fucking hard on stilling your bulge. It doesn’t really work.

He kisses you. You push his head away.

“We should stop.”

“No,” he growls. “Jutht give me a fucking thecond.” He kisses you again, and you let it happen. You figure he probably knows more about his own body than you do. If he thinks he can do this, you’ll fucking let him.

His light show kicks up in intensity. You have to close your eyes because wow is that fucking bright.

“Ok,” he says, breathy all over again. “Ok, I’m good.”

You open your eyes just enough to squint, reach up and wrap your hands around his horns. Psionics race down your arms, throughout your whole upper body, your horns, fuck, your horns. You thrash inside him, and gasps.

“Fuck, yeth. Do that, ah, fuck, do that again.” You try to, and somehow succeed. He buries his head in your neck, psionics tracing over you hot enough to almost burn.

Fuck, you are going to last an embarrassingly short time.

You make a conscious effort to rub his horns, and he trills, rocking his hips into yours. “Fuck, yeth, c’mon c’mon.” He’s gasping, nipping at your neck. “God, fuck, kk, c’mon.”

Your own breathing is coming in short, ragged burst. “What, hnn, what do you fucking want?”

“Harder,” he grunts against your neck.

You try to give it to him harder, rocking your hips up into him like that will somehow affect how your bulge thrashes. He mouths his way up to your ear, moans, and a second later, shutters. You see purple, even through your eyelids, and his nook clenches.

Fuck, that’s it.

“Sollux, move, fucking get off, come on!” You’re babbling, trying to warn him.

“No,” he says, a purr already overlaying his normal tone.

You try to push him off, but it’s too late. You come hard, shaking even as you flop back against the reclining platform. He kisses you briefly, before carefully tucking his head under yours. You lay boneless, purring together for several long minutes.

His purring tapers off first. “Ok. Ok. I think I’ve had enough, give me a fucking bucket.”

“Hmm?”

He sighs. “Alternia to Karkat. Newthflath, you had e-fucking-nough backed up in you, my gene bladder can’t take this anymore. Like itth hot ath fuck, I am totally getting off on thith like the dirty depraved fuck I am, but ith thwarting to hurt, tho, chop chop any time now thankth.”

You pull up your card with your bucket, and hand it to him.

“You couldn’t take it out your fucking thelf?”

“Encryption modus,” you say, like it explains everything. It does.

He groans.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He sighs. “Get me my glatheth.”

He wobbles up and off you, immediately clamping his thighs together. You roll to get off the couch but end up crashing on the floor. He snorts. You schooch forward, reach around the platform and feel for his stupid glasses. You find them, push yourself up, and hand them to him.

He puts them on, stares at the card hard for a few seconds before he starts working on it. Your eyes are locked on the swell in his stomach. You did that.

Wow. That is disgusting, but somehow incredibly hot. Your bulge finishes sheathing itself despite that thought, thank fuck.

It’s only a few seconds later when he’s done hacking, and he grins triumphantly and wobbles to the floor, crouching over it. He sighs, and the metallic plink of material in a bucket fills the room. You haul yourself over, because you want to fucking see your first official bucket. You both stare down at the bright orange, then at each other. He grins, and you can’t help but do the same.

He shakes his hips a little, and seems satisfied when nothing more comes out.

“’Coon?” He asks.

“’Coon,” you agree, and try to stand. He laughs, and suddenly you’re both floating. It’s weird as fuck, but convenient as hell, because you’re really not sure you could walk right now. You point him in the direction of your respite block, and he plops the two of you gently into your soper. He snuggles up into your arms, kisses you, but you’re already falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off for most of January, I don't even go back to college 'till halfway through. I'll try to bang out another chapter then. Also, going to jerk you around a bit more, I decided to not make this a series, and instead make it one big work, because I don't want people reading one part without the other. Its still going to be the same context, just in one big go.


	10. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching to Sollux's POV here. Sorry its short.

You wake up with your head above the soaper and the fifth worst migraine you’ve had in your life. Karkat’s coon only has one sub-soaper mask, and because he’s a huge fucking douche, he took it last night. You open your eyes and see purple. Your psionics are buzzing so hard they’re going to phase their way out of your brain. You take a deep breath and submerge yourself under the slime. It takes the edge off, but considering how your pan is searing worse than sitting in the open sun, that’s hardly saying anything. You stay until your lungs feel like they’re going to turn inside out, and it turns out to be the worst idea ever. Your panting reverberates through your skull in the worst way possible.

Fuck. Everything.

You reach out blindly for Karkat, but he’s not there. Duh. His ‘coon is so small he would have been pressed against you if he were. That and he probably would have had third degree burns.

Fuck psionics. 

If Karkat’s not here that means his mask is free. You keep your head very still and grope around for it. Life has mercy on you, and you find it immediately. You have to feel out what type it is. You have suction based ones at your hive, but it seems like kk’s still got the strapped version they give out to nubby horned wrigglers. It’s going to be a pain getting it around your horns. 

Your head already feels like nails are trying to drive their way into it, but when your hand knocks into one of your horns, your whole head goes numb with pain in the worst way possible.

Fuck faygo. Fuck Karkat for keeping you from taking your blockers.

And then the door slams. Karkat is his usual boisterous self. Of course he’s an evening person.

“Good evening chute stuffer! I was thinking we could go out for breakfast—oh, hangover?”

You whimper. Hangover is close enough. 

You go back to struggling to get the mask on. You hear a pill bottle opening in the other room, loud enough to shoot a hole through your pan. Every one of his footsteps leaves an imprint in your brain.

“Here,” he says, voice softer than you’d ever imagined it would go.

You try opening your eyes again, but it’s still just that useless haze of purple. You reach out blindly, and he hisses.

“What happened?” Shit, using your own voice hurts. Everything hurts. Life hates you.

“Your fucking light show!”

You must visibly wince, because he lowers his voice.

“This is decidable not sexy Sollux. Burns are not sexy. Whatever degree burn this is, it’s not sexy. If this turns red I am so going to personally rip out your intestines and strangle you with them, and then make you eat them. It will be disgusting and gory and perfect punishment. Hell, I should do that already, because, hey, Mr. no visible marks, I have two hickeys on my freaking neck, fuck you very much.”

“KK, be a dear and thut the fuck up.” You sigh and rub your temples. “You have my blockerth right?”

“Yeah.”

“Give ‘em.”

“You’re going to burn me.”

“Karkat do I look like I fucking care. Get me thome water too.” Your head is collapsing in on itself. You can take maybe two minutes more of this before you just curl up and die in a supernova of pain and uncontrolled psionics.

“Get it yourself, fuckwad.”

You’re going to kill him. You’re going to fucking kill him.

He walks off though, and you can hear the tap turn on. It sounds like a waterfall to your abused pan. This is fantastic.

You hear a glass clink on a side table.

He’s not. He’s not going to make you reach for it.

He’s totally going to make you reach for it.

You’re going to kill him.

You hear him step, presumably, back. 

“It’s on the—“

“I fucking know!” you hiss, too loudly. Ow.

You try to hoist yourself, but you feel like you’re going to puke. You assume Karkat is just watching you like the asshole he is. You sigh and sink down under the soaper. You reach for your psionics; it makes your pan feel like it’s going to split in half, but it’s better than puking in Karkat’s ‘coon, which you should totally fucking do in retaliation for jack assery. But then you’d have to get out. Ugh. You furrow your brow and reach out, sweeping the room psychically. You hear Karkat’s muffled yelp as you map him out.

There. Pills and water, got it. You lift them up, remerge from the soaper, and float them to you. It’s tricky to uncap the bottle psionically, but you manage before your pan literally splits itself in two. You take four out, which is double the recommended dose, cap it and throw it in Karkat’s direction. The water makes its way to your hand, and you take all four at once. Your pain tolerance is about maxed out at this point—fucking Karkat making you do this—and fling the water at him too.

He squawks in surprise, and the dull pain it brings is almost worth it.

You go back to struggling to get the mask on. You resort to psionics again. Shitty as they make your life, they’re ridiculously helpful. Once you’ve got it properly sealed on, you flip Karkat off and sink under the soaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, happy valentines day guys. This goes out to all the other people unwillingly single, hopefully you are not as miserable as Sollux. Treat yourselves, go see Deadpool, Deadpool is fucking fantastic it'll brighten you day. Then [talk to me ](http://scriptedassimilation.tumblr.com) about it _please_.


	11. Seven out of Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys it been like four months I'm so sorry. I got so focused on school and my other fic that I let this one slip. But now it is summer, and I'm back at my shitty job, so I'll try to at least get a chapter out once a month. Maybe get some backed up for when I go back to college, because, oh boy, senior year. I'm taking almost all art courses despite not being an artist, I'm scared. Anyway, you're not here to hear about me, you're here to read about my favorite assholes in love.

Karkat wakes you up for lunch. He informs you that you’ve had a solid five extra hours of sleep, and that you are not squandering your time together anymore by lazing about and nursing a migraine. You want to tell him to go fuck himself, but that would involve removing the mask and coming up from under the soper.

He slams his hand on the ‘coon again, and the slime around you wiggles. Your psionic blockers have kicked in at this point, and so have the painkillers, so the pain you’re in has dropped. Not disappeared, Condesce forbid medication be that much of a blessing. But at this point at least, you’re certain you could actually see if you opened your eyes. Maybe make your way to the ablution block, and then come straight back to slimy soper heaven.

Suddenly your air supply cuts out. You gasp and get nothing. You surface in a rush, push back the mask and suck in a big breath.

“Fucking finally.” Karkat sounds way too smug. He’s definitely behind this. You don’t know how he blocked the air supply, but you are going to find out, so you can undo it and go back to sleep.

You hate him in the I-would-incinerate-you-if-my-psionics-weren’t-blocked way, not in the love bites and scratches way.

You carefully removed the mask, wincing when it bumps up against your big horns. Your pan hurts even more above the soper. Your mind is still slow, and you can’t decide on what kind of vitriol you want to spit at him. He beats you.

“Look fuckmunch, I get it, hangovers suck, but it’s your own damn fault. Save the wallowing in your own misery bit, and get out of the ‘coon, at least long enough to shove some nutrition down your protein shoot. You’ll feel better, I promise. Unless you regurgitate it all back up. That’ll just make the pressure in your pan max out to the point where you’re not sure if you’re vomiting because of your hangover, or because of your skull splitting pain. It’s a fun time.”

“Sounds like you’ve been there.” Somehow that makes you feel a little better. Like point twenty two percent better. 

“Oh I have,” he says. “Oh fuck, I have.”

You have given in and opened your eyes. He’s holding out a glass of water for you, and has both your pain killers and blockers standing by on the table. Strike what you said earlier, you think you’re in love.

“How are you so fucking chipper today? Granted, most of this is psionic build up, but you drank like double what I had, and you’re like, the bottom of the hemo barrel. Is this your lowblood perk, no hangovers?” Your own voice is grating and nasally, and it’s making your head pound with the reverberation of it.

He gives a short laugh, and shoves the water into your hand. “It’s called drinking enough water. If you over hydrate, your pan doesn’t hate you in the morning.”

“That sounds fake as shit kk.”

“Then why am I fine, douche nozzle?”

“Magic mutant powers. Speaking of which, gimmie my blockers.”

He uncaps the bottle for you. “How many?”

“Two. And two of the painkillers too.”

“Is it actually two? Because I know you have a fetish for a fucking number, so—so don’t look at me like that, ok, I’m just looking out for your health.”

“I think I know the dosage for my own fucking medication kk.” It’s too late; he’s holding the bottle up and squinting at where the docterrorist’s instructions should be on your blockers.“KK, just give them to me.”

He looks at you, then at the bottle again. “These aren’t prescription.”

Ah, crap.

“They’re not over the counter either, are they?”

You don’t quite hear the end of that statement, because you’ve taken a deep breath and sunk under the soper again. Hands quickly grab onto your horns and yank you up. It hurts like hell - your eyes are tearing up.

“These are illegal Sollux. You are putting illicit, probably homemade drugs into your body. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? And you were drinking Faygo on top of that; did you have any idea how these would react with—“

“Kk, your volume. Lower it.” You don’t want to have this discussion. You don’t want to have this discussion. You really don’t want to have this discussion. You rub at your temple. “I need them. You’ve seen me with my psionics at full blast. They make me fucking sickly. You fucking know they doubled after my adult molt- that much power isn’t meant to be housed in this tiny shit stained husk.”

“So illegal blockers.” He’s not grinning.

“So illegal blockers. At least until I’m a helmsman. But,” you snicker, “But then it won’t be a problem.”

Oh. Oh shit. That was probably the wrong thing to say, from how he’s looking at you. It’s like a wild lusus just ate his precious crabdad.

“You’re helmsbait?”

Oh sweet mothergrub, he didn’t know. How did he not know? You’re the most powerful psionic on Alternia, and he fucking knows, how did he not realize? Shit, you have to handle this delicately.

“It’s no big deal, kk.”

Woops, looks like that was the wrong thing to say. He’s flying off the handle. He gets two words in, something along the lines of, ‘What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you, Sollux’ before you’re slipping under the soper again.

Hey, he’s loud, and you still have a migraine. That is totally the reason you’re ignoring him. Not because you want to avoid serious talks. You are purely pain motivated.

You try to ignore your pain, which was previously a twelve out of ten, but has now whittled itself down to a solid seven.

When you come up for air, Karkat’s face is right in yours. He’s leaning over the rim of the ‘coon. He slams his lips against yours. You think he’s probably copying something from a dumb romcom, kissing someone you care about when their fate is ultimately worse than death. But honestly, he’s getting soper in your mouth, and you aren’t really feeling up to red solicitations. 

You pull away. Karkat looks crestfallen, but that’s probably because of the helmsman thing, not the rejected kiss. Who knows though? Not you, that’s for sure.

The first words out of his mouth, right after he’s wiped the excess soper off is, “We’re going to have to talk about this. We are going to have a long fucking discussion, in which your, quote, shit smeared husk, unquote, is going to go over, in excruciating detail, the helming process so we can figure out a way to get you the fuck out of it.”

You sigh. “You’ll be dead before it happens kk, so what do you care?”

“I care,” he says, furiously stripping off his shirt, “Because I care about you for some god forsaken reason.” He’s struggling out of his pants now. You’re kind of ignoring what he’s saying in favor of oogling him, because even with pan splitting pain, well, hot damn. “It’s probably a side effect of my fucking mutation.” Annnd, there goes the boxers. Nice. “Gutter bloods have to end up enamored with shit sucking lowblood ass buckets who have personalities like nails on a chalkboard and looks to match. It’s a requirement. I’m setting the fucking example.” He gives a harsh laugh as he sinks into the soper with you. “Not that my genetic material will ever be fed to the mother grub, but like, it’ll happen through irate wriggler fucking hate alone.” 

You turn so you can press your face up against his chest. “Can we not do this right now? I know I’m not sparking like a husktop running one of your shitty ~ath codes, but I’m still in a fuck ton of pain here. I know you’re not the considerate type, but fuck kk.”

He huffs, and you wrap your arms around his middle. He’s so warm. It’s making you sleepy. Well, that’s probably just the chemicals in the soper. You’re really not meant to be awake in this that long.

“I’m considerate as fuck,” he says. “In fact, I’m so considerate, that I was going to give you a horn rub, even before you let the helmsman bomb drop.”

“I thought you didn’t pity me that way,” you mumble against his chest.

“Do you want this or not?”

“Be gentle, they’re sensitive.”

“I’m always fucking gentle,” he growls.

“Your bulge wasn’t last night. I can’t believe it’s actually four fingers. Who has a bulge that thick kk?”

“Shut up and let me do this for you already.”

“KK.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just, ok I’ll shut up.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles. He tries to shift to get behind you, but his ‘coon is small. Like really small. How did the two of you fit last night, this is uncomfortable as hell.

When he finally spoons up behind you, it gets a lot better. You silently make up your mind to buy him a new--bigger--’coon once your next coding gig pays up. Because this is ridiculous.

You must have gotten a little distracted, because his hands are on your horns now and you didn’t even notice. Huh. You were prepared for pain going back up to twelve, but he’s actually being pretty gentle.

You should probably tell him that.

No, he’ll probably get mad for some reason and either, A, hurt you, or B, stop. Maybe even put an end to this great pity snuggling.

You keep your mouth shut.

For once.

He twists his hands around your larger horns, and ow, ow, that hurts. You grin and bear it. He does it again, then moves to your smaller, more sensitive horns. He better not try that twist shit again.

But you know he’s going to.

He does.

You hiss, and a few sparks dart off your offended horns.

“Dude,” you’re still hissing, and he’s probably offended, but hey, you’re in pain, “Have you ever given a pale hornjob before?”

He’s silent. You rest your head against the rim of his “coon.

“Fine, you don’t have to say it, it's that obvious. Fuck kk, even AA gave better horn rubs than this, and she had a pretty impressive rack. You have fucking tiny horns too. What, does your mutation make them unresponsive or something?”

He’s mumbling, soft, but you make it out. “How is Aradia?”

“Dead.” You say. “You didn’t know?”

“I thought she just stopped messaging me.”

“Yeah, me too. But I went out there, to her hive. There’s nothing left but this nasty charred gash.”

“And you’re ok? With like, your moira--”

“We were six kk, it was a long time ago. Can we not do this now? Please? I know I’m being charming and agreeable right now, but give me two more minutes and I’m going to sink right back into this soper and drown myself in it.”

“Fine.” he says, and you know you’ve only gotten out of this temporarily. 

Fuck it. Whatever, you’ll deal with it later, you’re going back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they ever not be awkward? Probably not, because I fucking love awkward relationships, and they lend themselves so well to it.
> 
> So hey, I've decided to start taking requests on my [tumblr](http://www.scriptedassimilation.tumblr.com/)for mini fics, just to try to get in the habit of writing more. Please, please, please come leave me one, or two, or more, and I'll see what I can do. You can even requests moments in this fic, or, even better, from my other fic Impetuous Arrangement, because I want to world build that some more. But general requests are good too. I've also put a tip jar up on my tumblr, just in case you have some spare change and want to throw it my way. 
> 
> Ok, I've had two really long author's notes, I'm going to shut up now.


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